


Beyond the Land of Milk and Honey

by Hesesols



Series: Eclipse [19]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Arabian AU, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Kuchiki Rukia, Blood and Violence, F/M, Inspired by Game of Thrones and BBS Desert Society, Magic is dead, Morally Ambiguous Character, Plot, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 65,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesesols/pseuds/Hesesols
Summary: Theirs was a land so rich and beautiful, drenched so steeply in the colour red for love and passion, blood and war. A seeress, captured willingly; a Sheikh, ensnared unknowingly; let the story begin.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia & Ise Nanao, Kuchiki Rukia & Kurostuchi Nemu, Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo, Shihouin Yoruichi/Urahara Kisuke
Series: Eclipse [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757437
Comments: 254
Kudos: 112





	1. Veneer

.

.

.

The land beneath her was bleeding a shade so red that it burned her eyes. It came from nowhere but swarmed from every direction possible, pooling about her slipper-clad feet until they too were stained crimson.

Fear coiled ruthlessly about her pounding heart.

She half-turned, hoping to make sense of her surroundings but every way she cast her sight; they drew up blank. Strips of sand that seemed to stretch across the horizon were cast around her; sand that were dyed a shade of vermillion red just starting to darken.

Her toes were soon coated in a thick layer of molten blood, so distinctively disgusting and uncomfortable that all she wanted to do was run- to kick off her soiled slippers and just run.

Yet, she remained immobile; rooted to the ground like a statue. Caught in her moment of panic, the rancid odour of fresh blood and human waste that invaded her nostrils came as a surprise to her.

She grimaced as human carcass and animal corpses emerged from the millions of tiny blood rivulets. The droplets crawled and linked up like an intricate tapestry of a sinister maker; knitting together skins and organs, but upon completion, their fractured and empty shells were deposited haphazardly like cast away toys; some landed right beside her and some beneath her.

She could have sworn that she stepped on an unfortunate soul's detached ear.

.

_The future._

_._

She averted her stare only to be greeted by the sight of the numerous dead, spread out and laid about for her eyes only.

Bile rose to her throat. The rumble of horse hooves, the clamor of steel against steel and the shouts of desperation and pain reverberated in her sensitive ears, an echo of the violent skirmish that has passed.

Her eyes saw soldiers of different nations- men, boys, fathers and brothers, sons and cousins- lying broken and lifeless on the gritty land. Their empty stares, horror-stricken faces, gaping wounds that still dripped tepid blood.

In life, they each had an identity, a name, a connection, a purpose; death robbed them of it all.

.

_Hopeless._

_._

Pesky flies flitted from corpse to corpse, enjoying the feast in silence. Cast on the ground, were the shadows of vicious vultures, circling the air, some already swooping down and chewing the strips of flesh with relish.

She suppressed a shudder and unwittingly took a step back, her eyes fixed on those of the scavengers. Like demons in animals' clothing, their beady eyes held no warmth and were focused solely on her frozen stance, mocking and taunting her of the scene before her as they ripped strips after strips of meat from the dead bodies.

She frowned. This was a vision.

A prediction of events to come that she had no way of stopping and preventing.

.

 _And this is but the beginning,_ taunted the formless voices in obvious glee.

.

The future looked bleak indeed.

.

_So this is the future?_

_._

_._

No, she thought horrified. Surely it could not be true? What of her magic and duty? What of her Goddess? Surely the Gods will not allow this to happen?

.

_That is enough._

_._

A torrent of snowflakes, a flare of magic and the horrific scenes before her disappeared.

Now, she found herself standing on dry land. Her feet were clean of grime and blood. Above her, she saw a bright and dazzling sun- the brightest she had ever laid her eyes on and in the air, there was a lingering scent of spring and warmth.

"You cannot fight this," came a melodious voice behind her, tearing her away from her musings.

The lady stood tall and regal, draped in a shimmering gown of lavender and ivory. She possessed an ethereal beauty, easily alluding to her unworldly origins; something evident in her haunting eyes- the fabled windows to the soul, like ice over a frozen lake; that and her sweeping train of silver hair, white like the snow, trailing behind her.

When she spoke, a hint of the cold unforgiving chill lingered.

A will of iron and eyes of lucid blue, the Lady of Winter Moon and Patroness of the Seers and Prophets alike- Lady Shirayuki bid her to rise.

"This?"

"Yes," replied the white lady, gliding as she made her way towards her young prodigy, "precisely **this**. The future as you saw it."

" **This** is a losing battle. Rukia," she beseeched, "You _must_ yield."

As her protégé, Rukia shared her patroness's fair skin tone and various attributes. Like her, she was sharp, quick-witted and equally as stubborn.

"The first and foremost rule in our world, my lady is to never assume the future is set in stone." The frown on her face deepened. "You were the one who told me that. Visio-"

"Visions are but one set of possibilities, different outcomes are expected for the different decisions one makes. Death changes nothing; other candidates for the role of the Intended shall arise to fulfill the void. The Intended is the only one truly capable of altering destiny; a Guardian can only guide- a companion and mentor on the Intended's journey, but never the leader," finished the Goddess unperturbed.

"You forget, child. I _wrote_ the Dogma," she seethed.

"Then what makes **this** particular vision so different that even the Dogma cannot be applied?"

Piercing blue eyes narrowed to slits.

"Do not take that impertinent tone with me, child." Her magic flared about warningly but to Rukia, it was but a flicker compared to the Goddess's powers during the height of her power.

It was not the first time this had happened.

Her eyebrows furrowed.

.

_How could this be?_

_._

"What's happening to you, my lady?" queried Rukia, the incredulous tone in her voice and her heart was suddenly hammering against her little chest, unwilling to confirm her worst fears.

Shirayuki sighed wistfully. Her millenniums'-worth of toiling about in the name of fate and destiny, advocate for the future and now here she lies, old and broken, barely hanging on and the life of her Guardians especially that of her champion, enshrouded in a mist that even she could not see.

"I am dying."

The sentence echoed with finality in the solemn air. Rukia's mouth was suddenly dry.

Moons ago when she was but a child, her Goddess was untouchable- unbowed, unbent and unbroken. Cold and irreproachable at first glance, within she was the epitome of resilience and wisdom. Her magic was a dazzling show of fire within ice - so powerful and lively, emitting from her, a radiant glow as bright as the morning sun; but now, the light that Rukia once saw was gone.

The shine in her eyes had been dimming as the seasons passed. Yet now, everything was laid bare before her. The signs that she had chosen to willfully ignore for the past few years have finally emerged to haunt her in reality.

Shirayuki was withering away before her. Her glow was steadily diminishing like the setting sun in the west.

It would not last.

Magic was dying, the Gods were dying and with it, the death of Shirayuki followed.

.

"How?" she murmured in quiet incredulity. Gods and Goddesses were immortal beings that existed in a dimension above hers; their very essence was the fuel sustaining their chosen Guardians' magic.

The all-powerful and all mighty simply do not die.

"Forgetting is the final death, child of mine," whispered the lady ominously; a resigned smile upon her lips. "From the East, a new God arises. People no longer believe in the Old Ways. Magic wanes."

Beautiful azure eyes interlocked with lavender. "When I finally fade away to emptiness, your magic will give way."

She took another step forward; a cold hand now lying on the side of her champion's cheek. "Now do you see how futile and daunting the task will be?"

.

_A world without magic?_

_._

Rukia could not begin to imagine such a place but did she really stand no chance of altering the future without it?

Were her abilities so limited that she had solely been relying on magic all along? What of her oath?

Was she not a Guardian?

A fierce glint flashed in her eyes as she tilted her head to meet her patroness's gaze. She was better than that. Even in a world without magic, Rukia would survive and thrive.

Her patroness continued, "Are you prepared to face evil without my protection and gift? To alter the course of events by any means necessary or die a martyr's death."

She needed no answers.

One look in those eyes and the dying Goddess saw her conviction. She nodded in satisfaction. Even in the bleakest of times, Rukia will never surrender. Not while there was still a breath of life within her body, Rukia- Blessed of the Moon will never give in.

"This is your last mission," Shirayuki told her champion. From afar, she could see the rings of black smoke rising from the east, so thick that even the sun was lost behind them. An acute sense of hopelessness and fear lingered.

Death, she shut her weary eyes, was an unknown entity that swallowed everyone and laid waste to everything- it was the ultimate end.

But Shirayuki was neither a weakling nor a coward. Death will be met on her terms, never the other way round and the powerful Goddess would rather burn than die without her dignity intact.

With a sharp intake of breath, she summoned her last and final vision in this realm and beyond; riding out to seek death on her own terms. Elegantly, she splayed her palm wide and from thin air, created a solid sphere of glowing light.

Inhaling sharply, she plunged her hand into the orb.

Her magic pulsated through the still air. Rukia's eyes widened as she felt the shift in her Goddess's aura. She whirled around; arms outstretched in a vain attempt to stop her patroness.

Rukia's face turned grief-stricken. Her Goddess will not survive this!

.

" _NOOOooooooooooooooooooo!"_

_._

She screamed as the familiar coil of magic tightened about her. Her throat burned, watering her eyes but they both knew she was too late.

White shimmering lights blinded her before the barrage of images and scents slammed against her senses, knocking the wind out of her body.

The _sweven_ went through her body like a shot of pure lightning- sharp, instantaneous and every bit as painful.

.

.

_Heat of the desert, chill of the night._

_Towards the sky that births all light._

_._

_._

Rukia gasped for air and delved deeper. With the sacrificial gift of her Goddess, she was plunged deeper than ever into the dark abyss of unlimited possibilities, hurtling past the various moments in time for both the events that have already occurred and those that are to occur in the near distant future.

These pivotal seconds were captured in scintillating globes with a menagerie of smells and sounds; one of which that suddenly glowed and expanded exponentially in size.

Before she could even voice her surprise, Rukia was sucked into the bubble and was caught in the scene as a light pulsated before her. It was so glaringly bright that she averted her eyes on impulse.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she found herself standing on dry ground. Shielding her sensitive eyes, she slowly saw the faint outlines of a mortal being, merely a silhouette, materializing against the backdrop of harsh light.

She dusted the dust from her apparel and stood.

.

Right before her eyes, magic took form.

The chassis of the would-be human grew broader and taller; sinewy limbs took shape, muscles and tendons flexed; flesh and blood fused like a quilt of patches, forming the blood vessels, tissue, organs as if knitted by an external force, bit by bit until they were enveloped protectively by a layer of skin; eventually, the individual facial features came to light.

The transformation was complete and **he** came into focus.

He was gorgeous, a marble of perfection that exuded the prowess and might of the Gods, powers that were intoxicating to her senses, an animalistic rapacity for unworldly forces that enraptured her.

It sang to her. There was a part of her that craved such powerful magic.

His skin was toned bronze while his beautiful set of amber eyes shone unusually clear and bright; shifting constantly between a shade of ominous yellow and amber. A chiseled strong jaw supported the angular and slender face of his. His face, especially his chin hinted at determination and pride; a leader of sorts, a pioneer and the Intended.

He had hair the colour of the fire.

Rukia took a step towards him and the scenes shifted. A kaleidoscopic burst of pictures and noises surrounded her like an angry maelstrom, entrapping her in the eye of the storm as the light dimmed and the nameless man vanished into thin air.

Thousands of fine dust particles sharpened into pixels and translated into colourful views as they assaulted her mind in quick succession.

She blinked and came face to face with her first image.

Here, she saw a defeated man; the same nameless man from before. She stood beside him as he kneeled by the side of a bed, cradling the bloodied form of a formless woman. His shadow of grief and the lingering regret choked her, but she remained upright; a comforting hand resting upon his shoulder.

In silence, they waited for death to run its course. It was an agonizing wait, worse still was the desperate hope that the man was clinging onto- that the woman might still make it. When the woman finally heaved her last breath in this realm, he let loose the most heartbreaking cry that Rukia had ever heard.

A quick flash of light and the images shifted.

With a start, Rukia realized that she could now breathe easier, but the man before her was no longer recognizable. He had turned into a beast of war.

Like a king, he sat imperious on his black steed, menacing and intimidating; even as countless others died around him, he remained unmoved.

Like death he was cold, but in his eyes, Rukia gulped; his eyes were screaming for blood. The look in his eyes promised death and carnage, of that she would never forget.

The following sequences were a blur of motion, both appearing and disappearing too quickly for her to make any sense of them. In one scene, she saw a breath-taking view of sun-set and of another, the setting for a perfect storm- howling of the wind that gave way to thunder and rain.

She saw horses, mountains, a pair of gleaming cat's eye. It continued in that jumbled assortment of random objects until she arrived at the last scene.

From whence she stood, he looked so peaceful. Wrinkles dotted his once handsome face and his eyes held no shine.

Rukia approached his body and kissed his cheek.

It was cold to the touch but she knew; in death, he was granted forgiveness. In the blink of an eye, she was sent barreling back through the terrifying scenes of war, past the haunting picture of man in mourning and landed back in the present.

.

.

Violet eyes snapped open.

Rukia doubled over, crumbling to her knees and clutching her chest; heaving as though she had been running. She sought a nameless man, beautiful but deadly and she **will** find him when she stands beneath the sky that births all light- East.

East- she must journey east to stop the man. He is the Intended in her _sweven_.

She nodded. Rukia understood what must be done, but the pained smile on her lips remained; an expression mirrored on the Goddess's face.

A lone tear slid down her cheek- the final act in this bittersweet parting. The Goddess smiled, "My parting gift to you, my child. Do not falter on your path. A-And," her lady's breath caught as she lost her composure for the briefest of a minute before mustering her courage once again to utter her final plea.

"Save them," she whispered.

The white lady erupted into flames.

Powerless, Rukia watched on in helpless despair as malicious blue chains of fire licked away at her lady's clothes, confided only to her form as those snaring tendrils coiled about like snakes and vines. She could feel her tears as her lady shrieked and tossed in sheer agony.

Brighter and brighter, the chains were now burning like embers in a fire, glaring while her patroness's presence flickered. The dazzling light focused and converged and then, the lady was gone.

.

_Forgive me, my lady._

_._

_._

Liquid fire seared through her veins as Rukia awoke from her trance.

She threw away any thoughts of self-preservation. If her Goddess could place the future of millions well above her own priority to live, then surely as her champion, Rukia could do no less.

She gathered her waist-length hair into a braid and drew her blade, cutting the thick mane. In a heartbeat, Rukia threw her braided hair into the fireplace, watching emotionlessly as the flames slowly consumed the offering until the strands turned to fine ashes and dust.

Beauty is fragile. She had no need of fragile things. As a seeress, she prided herself for her love of practicality over simple frivolity like hair.

Part of her died that day- along with Lady Shirayuki and her magic. The parts that remained- the Dogma, her oath and her mission; she would do anything to safeguard. So let the flames take the fine offering of her braid and may it be the last thing the hungry fire ever devoured from her.

With one last glance at the burning pile, she began packing for her journey. Her grief and her tears will not stop once she started and she couldn't afford to spare them any time. She had a vision to prevent.

But when all is done, when all wrongs have been righted then, and only then, will she mourn; for the loss of her mentor, for the loss of the life she once knew and for the loss of her magic.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> Previously a one-shot, now something else entirely. Inspired by BBS Desert Society and Game of Thrones. Angst, slow burn, gore and twists. You have been warned.
> 
> First, thank you **Black Sun upon an Icy Sky** for giving me such a fun and adventurous prompt. It's been a long time coming but it's here. Another nod of thanks to **darklover** for being an excellent listener and beta-reader, [**woodrokiro**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woodrokiro/pseuds/Woodrokiro) for your vote of confidence.
> 
> And last but not least, the **Quadforce** for the ongoing support and cheering. **Rrae** , [**Ari**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriadneKurosaki/works), [**Vero**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verotheghost/pseuds/verotheghost) and [**Shini**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinigami_Mine/pseuds/Shinigami_Mine) know that none of this would have been published this early without your help. XD


	2. Death and Its Friends

.

Legend has it that when their world was still young and its inhabitants; mortal and otherwise even younger still, the fabled Lord of the Sky and Heavens, Lord Yamamoto had a mortal lover.

She was as pretty as a blooming rose, the very essence of vitality and the Heavenly Lord loved her dearly. The young lovers were inseparable and spent their days frolicking in the Eastern plains, where every plant imaginable grew and thrived.

Yet, the young God was still too young to comprehend the heavy responsibility he alone must shoulder for his duties and how reliant the rest of the world was upon that power.

So blissfully in love he was that the young God neglected his duties, ignoring the admonishments and cautions from his Heavenly Council, choosing to spend every waking hour he had with his delicate love.

Thus, the sun and the moon would set and rise at irregular intervals, sometimes so early that mortals went to bed without dinner and at times so late that the farmers were still toiling their lands when they should be asleep.

Worse still, the people had to wait for weeks before rain could be sighted and when it did, it did not rain; it poured. With their failed crops and dead livestock, famine and diseases drove humankind to the very brink of extinction.

The Heavenly Council could stand by no longer and knew that something must be done to ensure the continuum of all living beings and restore balance.

They decided to separate the two besotted lovers from each other. Naturally, the young God did not take kindly to the idea. He drew his blade and the various Gods and Goddesses followed suit.

They battled unreservedly. Both sides with too much on the line to do otherwise, but in a battle where one is pitted against many, the outcome was obvious- it was only a matter of time.

For three days and three nights, they dueled upon the fabled battleground of Soukyoku. Mortal men heard thunder and saw lightning, fire shaped in the form of animals and man dancing across the night sky. By the fourth day however, the Gods and Goddesses on both sides were eager for the battle to be over, growing weary with every passing moment.

That was when the unexpected happened.

Fueled by hunger and righteous fury, the God of War and Fire, Lord Senbonzakura lost himself in the heat of the battle and had sent his wicked dagger sailing towards Lord Yamamoto, who was by then too drained to even deflect the curved blade.

All immortals alike watched in helplessness as the dagger projected itself across the open air. They had drawn their swords in an attempt to make their friend and brother see reason, not to kill him; but at that very moment, it seemed that death was inevitable for the young Lord Yamamoto.

Yet, the blade did not embed itself within its targeted victim, instead it had plunged deep into the mortal who had leaped instinctively before the God and shielded him from the attack.

She died instantly.

For thirteen days, the God mourned, cradling her broken body and howling in rage. His anguish was so potent that it poisoned the Eastern plains, turning it into a barren wasteland overnight and by the end of these thirteen days, he had erected a tombstone that he deemed worthy of being hers.

He named it _Chiyo_ for he intended it to last for thousands of generations, well after he was gone and his Council with him; she would live on as a true immortal.

.

.

Well, thought Rukia grimly as she painstakingly made her journey, that particular wish certainly did come true for that cantankerous old God.

Till this very day, the East and the West remained separated by the rocky ridge.

It was tall, its peak reaching the clouds and it was strong, unshakable in the face of disasters. There were thirteen separate peaks- one for each of the thirteen days he spent mourning, that stood ominously against the sun, casting long, dark shadows upon the neighbouring valleys.

For the aged God, it was a symbol of his faithful and undying love for her.

For everyone else, it was just an enormous pain in the neck.

.

There was no other way of entering the Eastern plains but crossing the rocky ridges. Hardened climbers took at times a week to scale the mountains. And when the weather was disagreeable they could be stranded for two.

It was imperative that the journey should it be undertaken, be completed as soon as possible for there was neither flora nor fauna that thrived within the mountain ridges. There were also rumours of shadowy creatures that preyed upon the weary travelers who were unfortunate enough to lose their way in the mountains.

Thus, it was by no small feat that Rukia took fifteen days to cross the treacherous mountains and caverns before entering the Eastern plains.

By the end of her trek, she was exhausted and famished. Her clothes were speckled with dust and her supply had been diminished to half a flask of water and several strips of dried meat. When the Guardian first spotted the tell-tale signs of hearth fire, she was so excited by the prospect of a full meal that she spent the last spurt of energy she had into a sprint.

Yet the sight that greeted her was not a happy one.

.

Her eyes saw only the rumbles and remnants of a city.

Smoking and burning, it had been the fumes coming from the ruined city that caught her attention.

It must have once been a magnificent and grand citadel, its people strong, warm and very much alive. Or perhaps a glittering city with tomes of knowledge sealed within the safety of their libraries; traders with their goods, children with their carefree laughter, but now it was all gone.

Now, it was a mausoleum. Death pillaged and ransacked the city, depriving it of life until all that was left of it were the broken city gates, hanging off their hinges, burnt structures with collapsed monuments and charred bodies.

The city was dead and Rukia made her way quietly through its empty streets like a flitting ghost. Her skin that was already the macabre shade of white, seemed several shades paler as the stench of death permeated around her.

As a sorceress, it was dangerous for her to remain. Magic was like a sustenance that her body craved, a dangerous addiction; now that it was dwindling rapidly, her body had an instinctive urge to replenish it by any means necessary.

She was vulnerable to the taint of the darkness in death and death magic- Necromancy, the worst of its kind; called to her like a devious siren.

She felt the cold whispers of death calling to her as she stalked through the walkways. The cries for vengeance from the dead drowned her- they wanted to use her as a channel for their anguish. They were cunning, making it sound as though she would be helping them if she took up their offer.

And perhaps she would, but she was no fool, death magic always turns on its users. It was simply too powerful to be harnessed and tamed.

With death magic, the price is simply too costly to bear. When the user dies in this realm, the soul will remain earth-bound, forever hungry, forever seething, forever doomed. Eternal damnation was too heavy a price to even consider accepting Death's offer unless one was truly desperate.

If she wasn't careful, she could very well be the next victim.

She willfully ignored the call, but the allure of utilizing it turned stronger as every turn she made brought her to a broken scene of carnage.

It was a stream of dead bodies, an endless sequence of discovering carcass after carcass; some rotten with scavengers picking at pieces of their flesh, others in various stages of decomposition. The entire city was dead with its occupants.

She could feel the undiluted pour of anger coursing through her blood as she clenched her fists tight. She wanted to know who had laid waste to this place, turned it into a mass grave without even having the dignity of burying the dead.

Then, she wondered if the carnage was related to her vision and uncertainty gnawed at her soul, questioning herself if she could have been able to avert this particular disaster and saved these poor souls if she had arrived earlier.

Was she too late? Has the wheel of fate already started turning against her?

.

 _Use me! Use_ _**US** _ _!_ _**WE** _ _have powers that you can use!_

_Revenge!_

_Vengeance!_

_._

A horrified high-pitched shriek tore through the forbidding silence and was quickly followed with raucous laughter from nearby.

The sorceress's blood turned cold, her aura suddenly flaring menacingly. Her eyes turned a scorching shade of cerulean and the last vestiges of her magic ignited at will.

How dare they!

.

Rounding the corner, Rukia spotted the source of the commotion. There were two men, so vile that her magic recoiled instinctively and between them, there was a defenseless girl.

Her dress was torn and her face smudged with dirt, making it difficult to ascertain her features, but Rukia could feel her fear. Futilely the girl struggled against her captives' choking grasp on her limbs, tears glistening as she saw the lewd leers from the men.

One was in the process of loosening his trousers and the other sporting a hideous grin that showed only yellow cavities. Both of them made Rukia sick to the core. Scum of the realm, her hand inched towards the hilt of her blade.

"Leave the girl alone," she whispered but in the quiet and abandoned streets, her demand echoed eerily. Unsurprisingly, the two men turned their attention towards her but the revolting grins remained.

If possible, their leers only intensified at the sight of her- small and slight, clad in a simple white caftan with golden embellishments. By her waist hung a sleek sword, but truthfully, the woman looked more like a fragile china doll than a warrior in every possible way.

"And why would we want to do that, doll-face?" sneered the scrawnier of the two. He was still in the process of undressing and Rukia made it a point that of the two, his disgusting member between his legs would be the first to go.

The brute to his left piped up, "Yeah, maybe we should just make you join us." The sickening man wriggled his eyes suggestively and slurred, his hand reaching for the front of his pants, "we could show you a real good time, little gi-"

He never had the chance to finish his sentence. Before he could even blink, Rukia was gone and a heartbeat later, his partner gave a sharp squeal of pain and blood splattered onto the ground with a dull splat.

The frightened girl screamed at the sight of the red fluid, blossoming like a radiant flower amongst the stark grey pavements.

Clutching the ends of her torn dress, she was gone before Rukia could even tell her to run. Rukia shifted her stance.

The pure white blade in her hands reflected the sunlight's glare like a mirror and on its sharp blade, the man could see his own face etched in horror and he turned his gaze towards his partner in crime.

"Di Roy," he mumbled in shock as he saw the huge pool of blood forming from where the man's crotch used to be. The now useless organ lied a few feet away from its lifeless owner, dead from excessive blood loss.

Nakeem could have sworn the severed appendage even twitched. The sound of advancing footsteps however drew his attention back to the situation at hand.

There was a vicious woman advancing towards him, she was pointing a blade at him and from the looks of it, knew how to use it quite well.

If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

"P-P-Please," he pleaded as he slowly backed away from her. Yellow urine trickled down the front of his pants and the brute was just too scared to pay attention to that.

He threw himself prostate before her, kissing the ground she walked on as if she were a sacred goddess, begging her for mercy.

The look in the woman's eyes was cold and unforgiving. She scoffed, how utterly shameless of the coward. Rukia mock parried, enjoying with perverse amusement at the horrified look on quivering man's face as he slowly backed against the wall.

There was no room for mercy and no reprieve to be granted. This woman meant business and Nakeem knew at that moment, he was looking at his end.

His knees buckled and his back hit the brick wall as he plopped pathetically on to the hard pavement. By now, he was shivering like a leaf in autumn.

Rukia approached the twitching man like a hungry predator; eyes gleamed with bloodlust and wild magic shrouding her. There was a chorus of gleeful chortles ringing in her ears.

It filled her ears and drowned her with a false sense of euphoria- a taste of things to come, **IF** she accepted their 'help'.

.

_YESSSS! YES! Make him B..L..E…E...D!_

_._

She tried to ignore it. It was wrong, it was foolish. She was smarter than that, but the taste of magic so blindingly pure and strong after so long an absence, it made her heady.

.

 _Join_ _**US** _ _… Vengeance for your Goddess…_

_._

Yes, why shouldn't she accept the offer? There was nothing left for her in this miserable world anyway.

So she would condemn herself, but would it matter really in the long run?

She would save them all; that was what that truly mattered, was it not? Was there not a saying that the end justifies the mean?

With this power, she could do so much more; benefit the people she swore to protect and avenge her Goddess.

.

 _K..I..L..L.. him with_ _**our** _ _power!_

_._

Yes, she thought; a crazed smile crawling onto her chapped lips. Starting with this pathetic mortal, she would rid this world of evil, one scum at a time.

Her vice-grip on the hilt of her sword tightened as she brought it down in a swift arc – the satisfying payment for his transgressions, a simple cut on his throat was all that was required to bring an end to this disgusting excuse of a human and yet—

The blow never came.

.

.

She was slammed against the hard wall by a colliding body, sword still firmly clutched. She gasped, both in pain and surprise at the impact.

The intervention could not have come at a better time.

Hot sunlight glaringly focused on her face. The sudden impact dislodged the misguiding voices whispering in her head.

Rukia sighed. Stupid, she was too reckless; but there was no use crying over spilt milk.

Shaking her thoughts clear, she assessed her situation at hand. Her sword was still within her grasp, so she was not entirely defenseless. It was her only silver lining as she also realized that she was held against the wall, a stranger's hand tight against her throat.

The sun's glare was bright but she strained her eyes to get a better glimpse of the stranger. Her eyes widened.

She was staring at the nameless man in her vision- from his brown eyes right down to the roots of his flaming mass of orange hair; everything was just as she had seen in her _sweven_.

She found him.

.

He had her against the decrepit walls and his grip on her throat was strong. Against his taller stature, she seemed even smaller than usual.

She glared in defiance, outraged by how she was being manhandled.

And for her efforts, the hold on her throat tightened marginally while the man's eyebrows furrowed. Oh Goddess above, she thought; he needed to do something about that awful scowl of his.

Rukia was brought back to reality when she heard the sound of thunderous footsteps and hooves approaching. She shifted her gaze to her surroundings. The sniveling bastard she had almost killed had long since fainted in his own puddle of yellow urine, she snorted; while his dead companion laid several steps away, separated from his pathetic excuse of manhood.

She sighed- appeased for now, there was still work to be done.

Huffing in annoyance, she lowered her gaze from those of her captor's. Rukia sheathed her white blade and conceded, "I yield."

.

.

.

"She killed my men. I demand justice. Blood calls for blood," gritted the teal-haired man hoarsely. His threatening voice rose by the hour as the cries for justice and blood grew in the gaily coloured tent.

They were in the Sheikh's presence- convening in the largest of all the tents and the man in her vision sat on the seat of power, surrounded by his loyal tribal council- men who wore flowing robes stitched with an inlay of embellishments and loose-fitting trousers, haughty looks upon their rotund faces and she could feel their aggression rolling off in waves.

Her predictions had been right of course. The Intended in her _sweven_ was a young man who had recently been made Sheikh of his tribe and he seemed to command the people's respect.

She was being tried for the murder of one of his tribesmen- the disgusting creature who would have raped the poor girl if she had not stepped in. The teal-haired man apparently wanted her dead for her actions, but Rukia scoffed, holding her head up high.

She regretted nothing.

Her mouth was dry but she did not dare slouch, lest they took it as a sign of weakness. The threatening man was eying her like she was a piece of meat and she fought down a grimace.

.

Perched comfortably on his seat, the young Sheikh took the arguments in stride, presiding over the trial. His brown eyes remained on his captive.

She stood before him and his council as a convicted woman who killed someone of their blood and truly, such a lengthy discussion was irrelevant.

Her crimes should have earned her death by execution.

However, she was special.

There was an ethereal grace and finesse about her- her deadly lithe movements as she easily dispatched his tribesmen, cutting them down like stalks of weeds.

Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water.

She moved as though she was dancing and he was her audience. The way she wielded her white blade, that peerless beauty of a sword as she slashed, that unreadable look in her eyes even when she conceded; remained etched on his impressionable mind.

Now, she stood before him- ramrod straight and emotionless, as if she was the wronged party and defiant of her fate.

She was not from here, not originally anyway- her fair skin tone gave it away. Black hair cropped short to her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. A drastic decision to make; he thought when most women he knew would rather die than part with their hair.

The golden stitches on her white caftan formed symbols of a sort from an unknown language. She should be a woman of a fairly high standing to warrant such fine clothes. Yet she stood before them with only a sword and the clothes on her back- alone with no familial connection to claim greatness to; no entourage to lend presence to her existence.

She was a barrel of contradictions, too odd and wonderful to make sense of.

His brows furrowed. Whoever this intriguing woman was, she was simply too interesting to be left to die at the hands of Grimmjow, his least favourite cousin by far.

He cleared his throat.

.

"Am I to understand, Grimmjow that your men are killed by this slip of a girl?" he drawled. "Your men bring such shame upon you and I. **WE** ," he bellowed, drawing the attention of the men, "are a warrior's clan. _Men_ ," he spat, "who uphold their dignity down to their last dying breath."

The challenge was met. Teal blue eyes burned against their earthen-speckled counterparts. There was no love lost between the two.

"I against my brother, my brothers and I against my cousins, then my cousins and I against **strangers** ," snarled Grimmjow.

His clan leader scoffed. "Speak for yourself. I don't side with men who are unable to uphold their _sharaf_ ," he said coolly, " _Men_ who wet their pants when faced with the sight of a girl holding a sword? Who has heard of such a thing?"

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Growling, Grimmjow turned on his heel and stalked out of the tent, laughter in his wake as the rest of his tribe members witnessed his disgraceful exit. His face had turned a shade of murderous maroon so fierce; it was in danger of staining his cheeks permanently.

.

"As for you, my lady-" Ichigo had the pleasure of seeing those startled eyes locking gazes with his. Her eyes- he had no name for such a vibrant hue but decided that he liked the strange colour anyway- "If I may, what is your purpose here and where did you come from?"

His query struck a chord within her. She hesitated.

Should she lie?

Should she be truthful?

Rukia pondered over the future. She thought of the visions- past, future and present, the death of her Goddess, the crumbling walls of the city; and suppressed the sudden spurt of bitter laughter.

Truly such concerns were unnecessary, after all; where did she hail from if not a broken and forgotten world of the past?

"My home was destroyed. I don't have anywhere else to go."

The orange-haired man nodded. The destruction of her homeland explained the sadness lacing her tone. His tribe had come across a few burning cities, much like this one with its scorched city walls and dead occupants, along their journey. He didn't understand the city dwellers' fascination with stagnancy- the idea of putting down roots and staying grounded was bewildering but he understood loss, knew what it meant to have everything you once knew to be yours taken away.

"Do you seek sanctuary?" he asked.

Rukia nodded, reluctant to raise her gaze; lest the Intended saw through her deceit.

"Have you a worthy profession to contribute to my clan?"

"I am skilled in the healing arts."

A healer?

He frowned, surprised to say the least. With the skills she had displayed with her sword, the woman before him belonged amongst warriors.

But it made sense– a healer is a prestigious position in a community though he was sure the mysterious newcomer harboured far more secrets than she was willing to share.

Still, she was of no immediate threat to his tribe. Everyone had a secret or two to hide. He would not be so cruel and callous as to deprive her of hers, but uncovering them would prove to be a challenge- another layer of mystery to this mysterious woman.

He made his decision.

"I offer you a trade. My tribe's protection and shelter for your arts and service," he said as he made his way towards the unsuspecting Guardian.

Rukia dipped her head low. "Much obliged, m-"

His fingers caught her chin and tilted her face upwards, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Her breath caught, surprised by the intensity of gaze and his smirk. Were it not for the sake of propriety and her guise, she would have gladly given him a kick at the spot where the Sun shines not; Sheikh or not.

She was a Champion and a Guardian! She bristled. She should have his hand for his transgressions.

"Call me Sheikh Ichigo. You should address me as such."

Rukia narrowed her eyes at his invitation. Such a sly man to resort to such methods to know her name, but she accepted it nevertheless.

"And you may call me, Healer Rukia, _Sheikh Ichigo_."

She allowed her tone to drop to a low, almost inaudible alto, "Though I would advise you to retract your hand, _if_ you value it."

Fire burned in her eyes and she brought them heatedly to his gaze.

Ichigo smirked and fought the urge to laugh. Amusement lit his eyes. With such a vivacious woman, life in the tribe was going to be quite interesting indeed.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rukia kicks ass!
> 
> That is all.


	3. In Plain Sight

.

"What will you have us do then with a mute girl? Another hungry mouth to feed? As if we haven't enough to worry about?"

The man before them was an elder- a respected member of the Council who is said to be both wise and righteous.

Rukia would snort if she could.

He was undeserving of the title- not when his beady eyes were focused on the pair of newcomers, sizing them up as though he were a vulture hungry for his next meal; and the words he used- callous and condescending, meant to reduce them to something less than human in the eyes of others.

She averted her gaze- just looking at his bejeweled fingers and his smug face made her sick. His more than generous waistline and that of the many jewel-decked occupants of the tent showed that there was more than enough wealth to go around, at the very least it should suffice to clothe and feed an orphaned child.

It disgusted her to think that he would paint them- a hungry child and a woman with no wealth to her name other than the clothes on her back and her sword; a danger to the tribe and while Rukia had the blessing of his Sheikh to stay, the girl did not and the Elder delighted in unnerving the poor thing.

Standing next to her, Rukia could feel her shaking. She was young- the child hadn't even gone through her first bleed yet and Rukia's heart ached all the more for her. As subtly as she could manage, she tugged the scared child behind her, shielding her from his gaze.

"The child is not mute and she has a name," she hissed.

"Speak only if you are spoken to, _Healer_. Your presence is only welcomed for as long as the Sheikh grants you his favour."

Rukia bit her tongue.

"Nonetheless, Sheikh Ichigo has granted me permission to stay and so I must make my case before the Council. Please allow me to take in the girl. Nemu is an orphan and she remembers nothing but her name. Surely the Council, of great men such as yourselves-" her eyes swept across the gathered congregation of bearded men and hooded figures- "would have the mercy and compassion to take in an unfortunate orphan."

"I do not object to having her in the clan but the girl will have to work for her keep."

Rukia bristled at the unjust. He meant to make her a slave and Rukia would not allow Nemu to escape from one hell only to end up no better than some form of human livestock.

"She is a child!"

"You are asking for too much! Scarcely a day with us and you make such demands. It was Grimmjow's men who first found the girl and as such her fate should rest in his hands."

Her gut twisted when she saw the collective nods of agreement and whispers amongst the Elders. That ruthless man would ruin Nemu out of pure spite.

"No! I r-"

"I wish to adopt the girl."

All eyes flitted to the newcomer.

It was a woman- demure and respectful in her stance as she stood before the assembled Council but Rukia could feel the disdain erupting from the Council as she spoke.

"Madame Ise, this is not proper! Not for a woman of your position and rank. You are a widow. You have already been granted too much privilege indeed on account of your departed husband's heroics. Do _not_ let it get to your head!"

As befitting of her status as a widow, Madame Ise wore no finery, but held herself admirably before the glowering men. Rukia's interest in the mysterious woman piqued.

The last line in particular was delivered bitingly. At the heart of the underlying snark was the Council's insecurity. The elders seemed ill-at-ease in her presence. It seemed that her husband once held great sway over the Council and even after his death, his influence continued to colour their interactions with her. Though looking at the way the woman was holding her own Rukia was willing to bet that Madame Ise was quite the force to be reckoned with even without the protection and infamy of her dead husband.

She was usually a good judge of character.

"I call upon a blood debt. Was I not the midwife who delivered your youngest three moons ago, Elder Llargo? It was a difficult birth and it had come to a choice between mother and son. Did I not do as you ask? Did you not swear to grant me any boon I ask for to honour my services?"

"Y-Yes but-"

The widow's mien was stern and humourless as she asked him, "Are you not a man of your word? Or do you make a mockery of your oaths just because they were made to a widow?"

The attention of the men unanimously shifted over to the hulking elder who seemed to shake with rage at the insinuations cast. The code of honour amongst the desert people was bare bone to the point of crudeness- a man's word is his bond: If he had given his word, then he was obligated to honour it by any means necessary. A man who broke his word was a man never to be trusted again and in this harsh land that they stalk their existence from, trust went hand in hand with survival.

"Fine!" he growled, finally relenting under the gaze of so many; "Take the girl and begone!"

"The Council is wise indeed," murmured Madame Ise as she bowed her head and exited, tugging the still shell-shocked Nemu along. Rukia immediately bowed and followed suit.

.

.

Outside the Sun was bright and the heat scorching but Rukia much preferred the heat over the snake pit in the shady _bayt_.

"Thank you."

Up close, Madame Ise was even thinner and younger than she thought. Her clothes were clean but the colours faded and the severe bun that she knotted her hair in was every bit as unyielding as she was in her no-nonsense approach to life. Suddenly it didn't seem all that hard to imagine that this was the woman who had faced down the Council and strong-armed them to her cause.

Yet, despite her almost cold, unapproachable air Rukia knew that she was kind- willing to lend a hand when no one else would.

The taller woman sighed, loosening her hold on the child and said to Rukia, "Do not thank me just yet. Yammy will not take kindly to the affront and he may blame you for what happened today. My actions may have earned you an enemy."

"He doesn't scare me."

That was the truth.

Men like him only terrorized those weaker and more vulnerable. Rukia had faced greater challenges than a bully.

Her gaze however was apologetic as she told the other woman, "Nemu isn't mute. I think she's in shock. She told me her name when I asked her but doesn't seem to remember anything else. Please give her some time. She's a bright girl."

Nemu flashed Rukia a small smile, shyly avoiding her gaze as she tugged at the hem of her new dress. Rukia had traded for some living necessities with the womenfolk using the precious little she had on her- amongst them was a linen dress for Nemu. The kind gesture had earned her a little of the girl's trust- a name to call her by but it would take a while before the poor thing learned to put her trust completely in others.

Madame Ise nodded then turning to Nemu, "I may not have much little one, but for as long as I have a roof over my head- so too shall you. I will not force you into anything you don't want to but stay away from Grimmjow's men. Neither of us is in any position to warrant any scrutiny or attention- do you understand?"

The child nodded vigorously but otherwise remained mute. Her response earned her a quick pat on the head from her adoptive mother. The stern woman rose to her full height then, towering over both Rukia and Nemu.

"Call me Nanao. I didn't intervene solely because of Nemu," she told Rukia, "Lady Yoruichi has requested your presence."

.

.

.

Rukia kept her head down as she was led towards the ring of the colourful tents that dotted the inner circle within the clansmen. Nanao brought her over to the matriarch's _bayt_. Pointed whispers and surreptitious glances followed them but Nanao told her to pay them no heed.

In this part of their community, only the matriarch's opinions mattered and by virtue of being the young sheikh's aunt, and taking into account that the man was still unwed- Yoruichi held the respected title. Rukia may have earned the Sheikh's approval but if she were to be truly accepted- earn a place amongst the womenfolk and their respect; the healer needed Yoruichi's blessings.

The first thing she noticed upon entry was the fragrant smell of spices in the air. Rich, decadent smells that threaded through the air gave away the secret to the fortune and opulence of the tribe. Spice trade was a lucrative business and greed- control over the sale of these precious materials was what fueled the power struggle between the faction loyal to the Sheikh and those who support the former's cousin.

"Thank you Nanao," drawled the dark-skinned woman as she reclined upon her pillows and animal pelts. A small hearth laid to her front- the fire had died, its use more to ward off the nighttime chill than cooking- but the meal set before them was hot and fresh.

Platters of dates, meat, bread and coffee- the aromatic scent of food that made Rukia's mouth water and her eyes brighten at the novelty- from being spoilt for choice when there had been days on her trek through the mountains where even the mere thought of food was a luxury.

Their hostess had a grace to her movement as she bid them welcome. The deep purple dye of her clothes matched that of her hair- magenta, sleek, long; piled into an elaborate hairstyle interwoven with precious gold that spoke of her status and power.

She smiled- showing teeth and dimples but it did nothing to set Rukia at ease. Something in the shape of her eye and their colour spoke of her wit and cunning, a warning to cross her at your own peril. Nonetheless, her gaze was kind when she greeted them.

Standing not so far away from Yoruichi were two younger girls- one blonde, and the other raven-haired; close to Nemu's age but their figures fuller, faces rounder, dressed in rich clothing indicating that they were of a higher social ranking, daughters of important men. The relief at seeing the healer's arrival showed in their eagerness to vacate their previous seats in front of Yoruichi.

Something in the air didn't feel right but Rukia kept her face blank and bowed deeply.

"How can I help?"

Yoruichi laughed, waving off the healer's concern.

"You may have wasted a trip here, Healer Rukia. My nieces seem to think that I have taken ill despite my best attempts to persuade them otherwise. It's just a touch of too much sun."

"At least let her have a look," said the blonde girl as she nudged her elder, "it couldn't hurt."

Turning to Rukia, she said, "My aunt has been complaining of lethargy and nausea since late morning. Her skin feels clammy."

Yoruichi shook her head, rolling her eyes fondly. "Yuzu, such a worrywart. Take a hint from Karin. Look at how calm she is- really I'm fine!"

Karin- the raven-haired girl- scowled but said nothing else. Her sister on the other hand was far from convinced.

"This is serious! Please don't make light of the situation. We're both really worried."

Rukia asked, "Any other symptoms?"

The girl shook her head, "She didn't say. She was already like this when we came. I thought she wasn't behaving like herself. She's usually chattier than this. Rurichiyo was visiting earlier before we came so she may know more."

Rukia narrowed her eyes.

"May I?"

Yoruichi nodded her consent and Rukia laid a cool hand on the woman's forehead. Her skin was clammy like what the girl said but otherwise normal. The healer pursed her lips, feeling for the pulse of the woman at her wrist.

She frowned. The pulse was jaunty, practically jumping at her touch- too quick for her liking.

Rukia leaned in closer, pressing at the glands below Yoruichi's jaw, checking to see if they were swollen.

"Any pain when I press down?"

Her patient shook her head, "No, my mouth does feel dry though."

"Stick your tongue out for me."

The healer squinted from the darker lighting in the tent but was nonetheless able to see that the organ was fine- neither swollen nor covered in sores, though it did appear redder than normal.

"How long since you've had the dry mouth?"

Yoruicihi frowned. "Some time this morning after breakfast."

The healer nodded, so the dry mouth was relevant- a symptom of whatever affliction that Yoruichi was suffering from.

"If I may be blunt, how is your monthly flow?"

The older woman was amused as she answered, "Like clockwork. I assure you, Healer Rukia; with children of my own and experiences granted to a woman of my age that I am not with child."

Rukia nodded, satisfied to change the direction of her queries. "How long ago was lunch?"

"Not too long ago," replied Yoruichi as she gestured at the feast, "as you can see- the dishes haven't even been cleared yet and I didn't even touch the food. Just the smell of it was making me sick."

Rukia could see the way the older woman was clutching her stomach, a sudden hitch in her breath- sharp from the pain. "And breakfast?"

It was Karin who answered this time. Yuzu was offering Yoruichi a cup of water, coaxing her to at least take sips but the former declined it. "We had ours separately. Ichigo insisted before we came for a visit."

Rukia raised an eyebrow at that and asked Yoruichi, "do you still have the leftovers from this morning?"

Beads of sweat dotted Yoruichi's forehead as she shook her head but was unable to answer more as she clamped a hand to her mouth urgently. She was quickly handed a pot and proceeded to empty the contents of her stomach.

The two girls standing behind their aunt jumped from the sudden action. Yuzu shrieking as the matriarch fell ill and retched, Nanao calling for the help from the womenfolk outside the tent.

Rukia crept close, patting the back of the woman as she examined the contents of the waste, noting with satisfaction that while pungent, the contents were not speckled with bits of dark brown or red.

There was no bleeding at the very least.

"Are you feeling better now?" she asked. The latter shook her head, wiping the corners of her mouth shakily as she propped herself up.

Yoruichi's face had gone ashen. When her hand went to grasp Rukia's, Rukia could feel her tremors. Her eyes were wild as she squeezed hard at their linked hands, another hand at her chest, her tone bordering on hysterical as she shouted.

"Help me! I can't breathe!"

The knuckles on her hand turned white.

"Stay with me," breathed Rukia as she urgently broke off a piece of the charred black bits of wood from the hearth, feeding it in small chunks alternating with sips of water to the rasping woman. Whatever poison it was that had affected the woman, the healer prayed that it had been ingested recent enough for the charcoal to take its effect.

She urged the woman to drink more water, pressing a hand against Yoruichi's forehead.

Yoruichi suddenly screamed, surprising Rukia as the back of Yoruichi's hand slapped against her cheek.

The healer grimaced in pain. The coppery tang of blood was unmistakable in her mouth but Rukia ignored the ache in favour of following the woman's line of vision.

The woman before her was far from calm and collected. She was shrieking like a banshee, tearing at her hair, fingers pointing at the air spaces in front of her as though something of unmentionable evil was right before her.

"It's here!" she screamed, eyes feral and wide with fear as she regarded Rukia, "how can you not see it? It's right in front of you!"

"Lady Yoruichi please calm down!" Rukia tried to inch her way closer to her patient. "It's not real!"

This was another symptom- the poison ingested was potent enough to cause hallucinations. Yoruichi had to calm down. Fear and anxiety were not conducive to her already shallow breathing.

"Get it away from me!"

The woman clawed blindly at the empty space, slapping away Rukia's hands, hindering further attempts to reach out to her.

Then, with a loud, dramatic gasp, her eyes suddenly rolled back, body going limp and hitting the carpet underneath with a dull thud.

Rukia's heart leaped to her throat.

"Lady Yoruichi!"

Around her, the panic in the tent was almost palpable. The womenfolk who had answered the call for help had walked in just as Yoruichi fainted. Some were muttering something about the evil eye, making excuses to exit the _bayt_ just as quickly as they had arrived; others were strangely silent and almost contemplative at the chaos unfolding before them.

Rukia cursed at her predicament. Nanao was still nowhere to be seen, Yuzu was crying while her dark-haired sister stood by the side, stunned at the sudden development.

"Karin," she called out to the girl- knocking her out of her stupor, "Send word to Sheikh Ichigo! Lady Yoruichi's been poisoned!"

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thun-thun-THUN!
> 
> Charcoal (carbon) is used to treat emergency poisoning in a lot of cases. Provided that the poison has been ingested recent enough and the airway is not blocked, it can be used to treat a lot of medication overdose including paracetamol poisoning and food poisoning.


	4. Where the Desert Roses Bloom (I)

.

The tension in the _bayt_ was thick enough to be cut through with a blade.

Her cheek still stung from earlier, perspiration dripping down her back while she, like the rest of the Council awaited Sheikh Ichigo's response.

Rukia had just finished detailing the events leading up to Yoruichi's collapse- how the symptoms had worsened from the headache and the severity of the hallucinations, what the emergency response had been, and more importantly, the deduction that the poison was something that had been slipped in intentionally into Yoruichi's meal.

The elders were twitching nervously, casting glances at their young leader who was strangely silent.

Her words caused a torrent of whispers to break out amongst the men. The unknown identity of the culprit and the poison used made them anxious. If someone could poison their sheikh's aunt, the matriarch of their tribe- what was stopping the assailant from poisoning them?

So far Yoruichi remained in comatose state, unresponsive but stable for the most part. The healer had left Nanao in charge with instructions to come fetch her should the situation change while she was away.

"He hides amongst us. Yoruichi's poisoner is a member of the Council with something to be gained from Yoruichi's death."

Rukia's eyes widened, tearing her gaze from the afghan carpet to focus on him. Granted the young sheikh was bold but she hadn't thought that he would be blunt and brash enough to make such an open accusation.

All at once the men were crying out, loudly proclaiming their innocence and swearing upon their honour and that their ancestors' that they were neither the mastermind nor accomplices to the poisoning, denouncing the poisoner for choosing poison- a coward's means to an end and they would sooner _die_ than commit such an act.

She rolled her eyes at their dramatics, grateful when the Intended held out his hand- effectively silencing his council of bickering men.

"Think about it," he said, rising to his feet, "My aunt is much respected in our community. She is a true daughter of the tribe and even during my grandfather's time as our leader- had his favour and blessing to sit in on the Council meetings. She supports **my** claim to leadership, who else but Grimmjow would see her as the main obstacle to him becoming Sheikh?"

Leaping to his feet and snarling, Grimmjow glared at Ichigo, "Liar!"

The sheikh pursed his lips, regarding his cousin suspiciously.

"We know that you and your faction have tried on numerous attempts to win her over. You _**dare**_ deny that?"

Rukia held her breath as the cousins faced each other with snarls and barely concealed disgust.

Ichigo continued, "Maybe you were tired of losing, tired of being rejected and finally took it out on her. You wanted her to die an agonizing death by poison as punishment for the slight. The Council is not blind and we've seen firsthand how you deliver your brand of swift _justice_ to those who've wronged you."

A chorus of uneasy agreements made its round amongst the men. Grimmjow scowled but was nonetheless unable to claim otherwise. His cruelty and ambitions were too well-known for anyone to turn a blind eye to the possibility of murder.

Backed into a corner, Grimmjow suddenly drew out his sword.

The men in turn did not hesitate to grab at their own.

They were battle-hardened. Violence was their mother tongue and they spoke it well.

The idea of an all-out brawl- knives out, winner takes all- didn't nearly surprise them as much as Grimmjow drawing first blood by slicing his palm.

Blood dripped freely from the open wound. He pressed his bleeding palm to his chest, smearing his tunic. The dark colour bled through the garment easily.

.

"I **swear** upon the grave of our grandfather that I have nothing to do with the poisoning, nor do I have any knowledge of it. If any of my men committed the act, they did it without my knowledge and my permission," he growled- the sinister gleam in his eyes sweeping across the men gathered behind him, " _That_ man is a criminal and I will **not** harbor fugitive criminals who have wronged my blood!"

Ichigo seemed to take the sudden turn of events in stride, recovering just as quickly.

"Very well then. Healer Rukia," he called out to her, bringing the attention of the occupants to her.

She frowned, wondering what he wanted from her. She had already said her piece about the poisoning. Did he want her to repeat it again?

"Find the culprit behind the poisoning."

She gulped, scarcely believing her own ears.

.

_What?_

_._

"A _woman_ , my sheikh? I must-"

"Do you have a better candidate, Yammy? If you do I am all ears; if not, hold your tongue when it is apparent that even your _master_ has no objection to the suggestion," Ichigo sneered, then turning to her, "I grant you permission to request for assistance in any form necessary from the tribesmen and question anyone you deem suspicious."

"The culprit is to be found by any means necessary."

.

.

Rukia was dismissed from the Council with a wave of Ichigo's hand before she could voice a word in edgewise and left that tent with her mind buzzing, annoyed and flustered. She was quickly beginning to notice a pattern here- what she wanted didn't matter; the Intended was only going to have things done his way.

The two hulking men stationed outside the matriarch's tent stood ramrod straight and remained expressionless as Rukia was allowed to pass through; their presence meant to deter nosy clan members from prying for more information.

As per their sheikh's order, no one, except the witnesses to the incident was to enter the tent - a rule which extended to that of the woman's husband and children. Time was of the essence here and it was going to be much better spent on finding the person responsible and getting an antidote for Yoruichi than dealing with her hysterical husband and crying children.

Thus far the only people truly privy to the condition of Yoruichi were her, the Kurosaki twins, Nanao and their sheikh who has insisted that he be updated as soon as any changes occurred.

"What did our brother say?" asked Yuzu, jumping from her restlessness, "do they know who poisoned Aunt Yoruichi? Do you know what poison it is? Can you make the antidot-"

"Yuzu!" admonished Karin, grabbing hold of her younger sibling shoulders and reining her in gently, "let the woman breathe."

Smiling sheepishly, Yuzu apologized.

Part of Rukia still found it hard to believe that the two girls- with their different hair colour and temperaments- were twins and sisters to the arrogant sheikh. The family resemblance was slight- barely there in the shape of the nose and the curve of their face.

The twins had a softness in their gaze, even Karin- older, quieter in her ways and quicker in her tongue- wasn't completely adept at hiding hers; a hint of compassion untouched by their proximity to power.

Their brother probably had his bled out from him over the years. In the game of politics, kindness was a weakness to be exploited.

Nanao who was kneeling and tending to Yoruichi, looked up and gave her a sad shake of the head- their patient was still in coma. Yoruichi's skin remained clammy, damp hair plastered to her forehead by sweat and Rukia frowned as she felt for her radial pulse; the beat was still too quick.

They needed to know what she had been poisoned with and make an antidote for it before her heart gave out from the stress.

"I was ordered to find the perpetrator by any means necessary," Rukia frowned, trying hard to not let her frustrations show. The new task was a heavy addition on top of her duty as a carer to Yoruichi and she had not expected to be asked to perform tasks that are far beyond her scope of expertise when she decided to join the tribe as a healer.

"We'll help," said Karin, "Can you guess what she was poisoned with?"

Rukia shook her head. She couldn't say for sure.

"The mixture of symptoms is confusing to say the least. I would expect poisons that cause hallucinations to work quicker and harsher, probably even destroying the victim's internal organs, but there was no blood in Lady Yoruichi's vomit. It had to have been slipped into her food that morning- so it was probably untraceable and odourless."

She frowned. Even though she had ordered the scene to be left untouched, it was still too late- the leftovers from morning have already been cleared away.

"Yuzu said someone visited earlier in the morning?"

Both twins nodded. "It was Rurichiyo and her cousin, Orihime. They both left just as we arrived."

It was suspicious to say the least- if the poison was added to Yoruichi's breakfast then surely whoever had dined with her that morning would be having the same symptoms.

"Then I think we should pay her a visit," said Rukia, rising to her feet.

Nanao- ever practical and the voice of reason- "I'll stay behind and keep watch but take Yuzu and Karin with you."

.

The twins were off, practically running from their boundless nervous energy, eager to help out in any form they could. With just the two of them and Yoruichi left in the _bayt,_ Nanao's hand caught her wrist just before she made her way out, tugging Rukia close as she whispered conspiratorially.

"Tread lightly with the Kasumioji girl. Her father is a key supporter of the Sheikh, second only to Yoruichi in terms of seniority and rank within the tribe. There have been talks of marriage between the two families. She'll claw your eyes out if she thinks that you have his favour."

Grey eyes peered at Rukia, willing her to recognize the looming dangers she faced.

"Do _you_ understand what I'm saying?"

Rukia's lips formed a grim line.

It was a tightrope act, balancing her duties and catching the poisoner without incurring the wrath or slighting the powerful elders. She had already made an enemy of Yammy and while she wasn't afraid of the elders, neither was she in a habit of making enemies out of all of them- that would create much difficulty to her mission.

The position she had been put in was precarious. All of this- she was to navigate her way through while _that_ man sat high and mighty.

The Intended was in the perfect position to deny culpability should her actions offend the sensibilities and sensitivities of his supporters. After all, he may have given her the permission but she had _chosen_ to conduct her investigations in her own way.

And likewise, if her actions yielded the results favourable to his cause- well it was _only_ made possible by virtue of his insights and bold leadership.

In other words, she was expendable. She shouldered all the blame and consequences with no credit to her name.

A thousand years of blight upon him!

His very existence was meant to damn her. How was she supposed to intervene and prevent the visions in the _sweven_ from happening when she was too busy running errands, made into a pawn in this messy game of politics within the tribe?

With the new information acquired, she squared her shoulders, thanked Nanao for her advice and chased after the Kurosaki twins who had a head start.

Rukia told herself that she would find a way.

There was simply too much at stake for her to give up without trying.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hierarchy goes like this:
> 
> Tribe> clan> family, naturally widows, orphans and loners like Rukia are the bottom-feeders.
> 
> Remember that line in GoT about the Hand of the King being made to clean up the King's mess ~~yeah, me too.~~


	5. Where the Desert Roses Bloom (II)

.

Rukia had always known that her status as a newcomer and unfamiliarity with the main players high up in the political and social hierarchy of the clan, their numerous family affiliations and ties, would put her at a disadvantage. Nonetheless she had not realized just how painfully out of her depth she would feel in her ignorance until she was tasked with the investigation.

The pool of suspects was large and the motives endless. Though it came down simply to power, wealth, love- the permutation and combinations were limitless enough that Rukia could feel a headache brewing just at the mere thought of untangling the web.

Nonetheless, she started off with what she knew was tried and true- power at its core was corrupted and in this tangled game of politics no one was safe- she had to assume that everyone was a potential suspect and the only people she could rely upon were herself, Nanao and the Kurosaki siblings.

The Sheikh had made it perfectly clear that he had no motive- his aunt was his biggest supporter what could he possibly hope to gain by poisoning her?

Nanao had plenty of opportunity to poison the Kurosaki Matriarch had she wanted to while Rukia was away facing the Sheikh and Council. The fact that the healer had returned to her patient- still clinging to life and breathing was testament enough. Besides, the widow was stoic, expressionless even, but she gave sound and honest advice- was quite possibly the only person who would understand what it meant to be put in Rukia's predicament.

As for the Kurosaki twins?

Their surprise and shock when the poisoning happened couldn't be feigned. Their willingness to help aside, the two was indispensable when it came to her investigation and their presence made all the difference when it came to being granted an audience with the Kasumioji scion.

.

"Enter."

The woman that Rukia saw as the trio made their way in was resplendent in a blue dress- a piece of woven textile that spoke of painstaking craftsmanship and dedication, the various bejeweled trinkets surrounding her thin wrists chimed and tinkled as she welcomed them into the _bayt_.

One could tell a lot from a woman's clothing. Though she wore the colours of an unmarried woman- Rukia saw that the girl was someone valuable in the Kasumioji household, even if she wasn't the favourite daughter, she was at the very least a useful one.

Rurichiyo- the Kasumioji scion seemed pleasant enough when she saw the Kurosaki twins, smiling warmly and offering condolences for their aunt. The blonde played hostess with much poise and manners as befitting as a manageress of a grand household. Women for such roles were groomed for it at a young age and it seemed that her father had great plans for her indeed.

Rukia brought up the rear.

Upon seeing her, the woman's mouth tightened. It was slight and gone in the blink of an eye as the girl's fake smile came back as bright as ever but Rukia knew that she wasn't welcomed.

Still, the healer feigned a smile and said nothing, mimicking the actions of Karin who didn't seem particularly thrilled to be in the presence of the blonde either. The group relied on Yuzu to make the necessary introductions and the pleasantries that followed were as proper and befitting as any.

"Well, don't just stand there! Get the tea, Orihime! Can't you see we have guests?" Rurichiyo snapped at the girl standing next to her once her guests were seated.

"Y-Yes! Of course!"

At the bark of command from her cousin, Orihime scampered off. Rukia's eyes widened when she realized that the girl that she had assumed to be Rurichiyo's maid was in reality her cousin. Orihime's stance was subservient- standing while the others were seated and resolutely kept her eyes downcast - there was no way anyone would have thought otherwise.

"So how is Lady Yoruichi? Have they found the poison?"

Yuzu winced. "That's actually what we're here for, Rurichiyo. You and Orihime were there with her this morning. Do you remember seeing anything that was out of ordinary?"

"She seemed fine. We drank coffee and chatted about the preparation underway for my upcoming nameday celebration."

"What about breakfast though? Was there any dish in particular that Lady Yoruichi had taken a liking to but neither of you touched?" asked Rukia.

She suspected the poison to be something that had been slipped into Yoruichi's breakfast but neither of the girls seemed ill. The only conclusion that Rukia could draw from it was the poisoner knew the woman's eating habits well and had chosen to only poison the one dish on the table that Yoruichi was sure to enjoy in excess.

The lack of symptoms could be easily explained by a difference in dosage.

Rurichiyo blinked. "Breakfast was cleared by the time we came. Lady Yoruichi served us bread but as far as I remembered, she didn't eat anything."

Rukia's eyes narrowed. It didn't make any sense.

The window of opportunity to poison the woman and the pool of suspects was getting narrower. Her servants have no reason to poison her, who was by all accounts generous and forgiving. As for the possibility of the poisoner being someone closer to home, Rukia had rejected the idea as soon as she saw the woman's husband and children. Their shock and anguish when they received the news couldn't be feigned.

No, she thought to herself; the poisoning couldn't have been done by anyone within the household so the obvious suspects were the two Kasumioji girls.

Someone had to be lying. One of them must have brought in the poison, but _who, how_ and more importantly _why._

_._

"Please try to remember. Are you sure that she didn't eat anything at all?"

Rurichiyo raised an eyebrow at her insistence. "I don't like your tone, Healer! I was under the impression that I was being asked by Yuzu to help in my capacity as a friend. Not to be interrogated like a criminal by some strange woman in my own _bayt_."

Rukia bristled from the humiliation but kept her face blank.

Karin came to her rescue.

"My brother has given Healer Rukia permission to investigate all potential leads that would help uncover the identity of the poisoner and the poison used. Your cooperativeness would be much appreciated, Rurichiyo-" a half-smirk curled-"You've always been _such_ a paragon of virtue and hold our sheikh in such _high_ regards. You would do anything for him, wouldn't you?"

Rurichiyo stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Everyone knew how her father had grand ambitions for her and that future that he had envisioned for her as the future mother of the tribe- that was not a future that she opposed. But certain pretenses must be maintained- her admiration for the Sheikh must be subtle and composed at all times, as was proper for a young lady of her position.

Yuzu shot her sister a warning look but the latter ignored it.

It was just as well that Orihime chose that time to enter the tent with the tea.

"Well maybe Orihime remembers something instead?" suggested Yuzu in a bid to break the awkward silence amongst the women but it hadn't achieved the intended effect.

Surprised, the auburn-haired girl almost dropped the hot flask. Some of the water scalded her skin and she hissed from the pain.

.

Rukia was seated close enough to see the bruises dotting her wrist for the briefest of a second before pink skin formed and she nervously clamped a hand on the burn.

Rurichiyo sneered, her voice devoid of sympathy as she chided, "You're always so clumsy, Orihime! Get out of here before you make another scene and embarrass yourself further in front of the guests!"

The taunt stung and tracks of tear were running down the poor girl's face as she ran. Yuzu looked to be on the verge of tears herself while Karin struggled to hold her tongue.

Any reprimanding from them would be the equivalent of criticizing the way their hostess was running the household. Even if the twins were Rurichiyo's social-betters, it would be considered ill-mannered on the part of the Kurosaki clan.

Rukia though didn't have such qualms. Yoruichi and the rest of the high and mighty Kurosaki household may consider her a suitable match to their sheikh but as of now, the girl was not matriarch _**yet**_.

"You need to apologize to your cousin and stop mistreating her," hissed Rukia, "I saw the bruises on her wrist. You are abusing her!"

Rurichiyo's smile was mocking as she reclined against the piled cushions, amused with her green eyes glimmering. "Take back those baseless accusations before I make you regret them, Healer. You've seen how clumsy she is. She brought those on herself."

Rukia's fist clenched. Rurichiyo was right of course- she had no proof and she doubted Orihime would ever speak out against her vindictive cousin.

"I would like to speak to Orihime in private."

The other woman shrugged. "Well then do so in your own time. My cousin is a busy girl. The goats need herding and dinner still needs to be cooked."

Then turning to Yuzu, she beamed, "It has been a pleasure as always though I can't say the same for the company you bring."

Yuzu, bless her heart- was still polite enough to bow on her way out. Neither Rukia nor Karin had a kind thing to say before they turned on their heels and marched out of the _bayt_ in tandem.

.

"I can't _stand_ that woman," snarled Karin as soon as they were out. To which, Rukia heartily agreed.

"Why doesn't Orihime speak up about it?" she asked the twins. The bruises didn't look new- whatever abuse Orihime had suffered it had been going on for a while now.

Karin sighed. "She can't. Her mother was a Kasumioji by birth. Elder Kasumioji was kind enough to take them both in after the divorce. Rurichiyo was always mean to her but once Orihime's mother died-"

Rukia knew all too well what happened after Orihime's mother died- her cousin just continued to use her as a servant and abuse her. And Orihime could not say anything because that would mean being removed from the Kasumioji clan and for an orphaned girl of a marriageable age with no dowry to speak off; there was nowhere else to go.

Her heart ached for her but there was nothing any of them could do.

Next to her, Yuzu chewed nervously on her lip.

"So what do we do now?"

Rukia sighed. Perhaps she would be able to do more for the poor girl if she didn't have Yoruichi's poisoning weighing on her mind.

The heat and frustration was getting to her.

Rurichiyo said she hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary and the matriarch's condition wasn't improving either. They were still at square one- no closer to uncovering the person behind the poisoning or the poison used than they were before the visit.

She needed to talk to Orihime in private but the poor girl was so skittish and afraid of her cousin that Rukia doubted she would gain anything useful.

"I'll wait for Orihime," she said finally. It might yield nothing but it was their best option.

"You two should go back. Stay with Nanao for now. I'll let you know as soon as I find anything useful."

She didn't want the twins to worry. They were just children- this weight was not theirs to bear.

With that, the two girls reluctantly left while she stayed behind.

.

.

Left alone, the noise- the loudness of it all; a curious blend of goat bleating, animal sounds, high-pitched laughter and squeals, and people talking over each other- it surprised her. A look around her surroundings showed her what she had expected to see. The Kasumioji compound was busy and thriving- being one of the most influential clans within the tribe, it would make sense that their clan was strong in number.

Even as the scorching sun was out, the womenfolk were hustling about- forever toiling away with their arms full and shoulders laden, chatting amongst each other as they completed their chores. The men meanwhile were gathered in a separate crowd- gambling, drinking coffee, talking; their topic of conversations ranging from trade to that of the latest gossip surrounding the poisoning.

No one bated an eye at her existence; no one minded her at all until she felt the tug at her caftan.

The child was young- a shock of red hair and a wooden sword in his grasp that he pointed at her. Behind him was a gathering of young children- old enough to have outgrown their attachment to their mother's apron strings but not quite old enough to help out with the family chores yet.

She crouched down to his eye-level, curious to hear what he had to say.

"You surprised me there, little one."

The child preened. "Sheikh Ichigo says that it's the mark of a good swordsman to be stealthy and quick- able to catch his enemy off guard by not being seen or heard until he decides to strike!"

Well, Rukia mused; he wasn't wrong there. Agility and stealth are important parts of a swordsman's training.

"I challenge you to a duel, Healer Rukia," he said in his unbroken voice- eyes bright and earnest. His authoritative and almost cocky tone introduced him as a ring leader for the group. Dozens of shy, curious gazes followed as he brazenly approached her.

Rukia raised an eyebrow at that. "You know who I am?"

"Of course," answered the boy, "Sheikh Ichigo said you can fight. I told him that he's wrong because girls can't fight- especially not with swords."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," Rukia smiled, showing her empty hands, "I don't have my sword with me."

She was a civilian- a healer now; carrying a blade as she made her rounds would have earn her more than a fair share of suspicious onlookers.

The boy cleared his throat loudly, puffing out his chest as he pressed a similar wooden toy into her hand, "do you accept now?"

Her hands had grabbed hold even before she had the presence of mind to decline.

"Of course-" the weight was off- too light and not nearly long enough but it would serve its purpose. She bowed and played along. The rest of the children crept forward- "I accept your challenge."

Not willing to be outdone, the boy was just as loud and adamant as he replied, "I, Kon of the family Kasumioji, son of Kuzuryuu and grandson of Kumoi- swear upon the spirits of my ancestors and my honour to defeat you. Vengeance will be swift and brutal."

Rukia resisted the urge to laugh. It was no doubt a line that he had parroted from older men. Coming from a child the oath sounded almost comical. Nonetheless, she kept her face straight and as the boy charged, flicked her wrist and parried with much seriousness.

It would at the very least make the time pass quicker.

.

One by one the merry band of children left to return home for dinner. Even without his audience, Kon was determined to win but Rukia was not about to hand over a victory that wasn't justly deserved. The boy had made his challenge formally and she had accepted; the least she could do was right his misguided beliefs: a girl can be anything she wanted to be, do anything she set her heart on- be it sewing or sword-fighting.

"Your form and footwork are solid," she admitted as she mercilessly thwacked the back of his knee with the wooden stick, sending him flying towards the sand for the umpteenth time- "but you lack awareness. Your movements reflect that- they do not flow in your attack."

Kon huffed, picking himself up and brushing the dust off his clothes. His face was pink from the humiliation of defeat and the exertion but Rukia hadn't even broken a sweat; _that_ was the difference in skill between them. The healer was clearly an adept swordsman and she was right.

There was much that he needed to learn.

She handed the wooden stick back to the sullen boy.

"This isn't over!" cried Kon as his mother led him away, protesting all the way that he wasn't hungry despite the growling from his stomach. "You fight good-" he begrudgingly admitted-"but next time- I'll train hard with Sheikh Ichigo so I'll beat you next time!"

His mother clucked her tongue, "Our sheikh is a busy man. I'll have your hide if you bother him for something as trivial as this! Now go before I decide you're much more trouble than you're worth and feed you to the Horned Man instead!"

Rukia chuckled at the scene, feeling just the slightest twinge of envy. The warmth of a family- even when she had her Goddess- was something she had never experienced.

Thankfully she didn't have to wait too long after that.

.

The sun had just begun to dip past the horizon when she finally saw Orihime. But something in the way she walked with her shoulders tense and hunched, all tight lips and haunted eyes made Rukia hesitate in approaching her.

Instead, the healer kept to the shadows, watching as Orihime ducked into Rurichiyo's tent only to re-emerge later with something wrapped in linen clutched to her chest. The glances she cast to her surrounding- cautious and as wary as a deer as she made her way out and took off in the direction of the animal pens, made Rukia frown.

The healer followed, carefully minding her distance as she trailed after the girl. The dying lights of the day made it difficult but Rukia persevered.

She hid behind some of the shrubs as Orihime came to a clearing and stopped. With one final glance to her surroundings, the girl made a hole in the sand and hurriedly deposited the mysterious parcel in it. Once the hole was covered, she sprinted back.

Rukia counted to ten before she ventured out from her hiding place, creeping slowly forward until she came to the same spot and managed to dig out what Orihime had so carefully kept hidden.

Unwrapping the bundle, she found that the bundle contained nothing but leaves- green, ordinary, unassuming. Their appearance mystified her.

She sorted the pile as best as she could. There were more than fifty leaves in that pile- nothing noteworthy in their scent, shape or colour until she came across a dash of pink in the mix. She held out the lone petal against the weakening light, straining to see what it was until she recognized it-

It was oleander flower!

.

Her skin burned and itched; raised bumps on her hands, especially on the pads of her fingers.

All parts of the oleander plant- from the colourful pink petals down to the unassuming roots were poisonous. Why would Orihime have such a large stash of the dangerous plant unless –

Rukia's eyes hardened. Now the girl's shifty behaviour made sense- she would be nervous too if she was stowing away the poison that may have been used to poison Yoruichi!

But questions remained: was Orihime simply acting under the orders of her cousin to dispose of the poison or were those hers to begin with? What was her motive?

And just as importantly, could she trust Orihime to answer truthfully without fear of retribution from Rurichiyo?

.

With her mind still whirling, Rukia quickly rewrapped the bundle, careful to make sure nobody saw her as she made her way back to the encampment.

The case was far more complicated than she had expected it to be.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feminism and equality. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.


	6. Where the Desert Roses Bloom (III)

.

Elder Kasumioji seemed respectable at first glance.

He had a presence to him with his grizzly hair and deep-set frown, and stood out with an air of solemnness. The weathered lines across his face made him look older- old enough Rukia thought, to be Rurichiyo's grandfather.

Nanao had said earlier that the man supported Sheikh Ichigo and there were talks of marriage between the two families. Even if Rukia didn't trust him, his political stance should align him to her cause.

It was in his best interest to do so- for everyday that Yoruichi laid in coma, her fate suspended- their sheikh's position wavered and by default, his own standing within the tribe and that of his own family weakened.

With a bow, Rukia greeted him and apologized for the late visit.

.

"What is it?"

Bowing low, Rukia presented her findings- of how she had seen Orihime behaving suspiciously and decided to follow the girl and upon revealing the contents of the bundle before him, asked him if he knew what the leaves were for.

"These are oleander leaves," she began, "In other words, poison unless used for other medicinal purposes but never in this quantity."

The elderly man frowned. "This is the poison used?"

Rukia pursed her lips and nodded.

With the symptoms Yoruichi suffered, the people involved- it was almost guaranteed that the Kasumioji scion and her cousin played a role in the incident. The real question was to what extent because Rukia wasn't convinced that either of the two girls had a motive to do so and the last thing she wanted was for anyone, even someone as loathsome as Rurichiyo to be framed for a crime she hadn't committed, especially when the Sheikh had all but accused his own cousin of the deed.

And Rukia for one wouldn't put it past that man- Grimmjow's penchant for violence and lust for power made a deadly combination and equally powerful motive.

"Why would such a dangerous plant be kept in your daughter's tent?"

The man shrugged. "Rurichiyo shares the tent with her cousin. Maybe it was Orihime's all along? You did say she was the person who buried the poison. It made sense that she would want to get rid of the evidence before anyone caught her."

"But why would she want to poison Lady Yoruichi?"

Surely a man with his political acuity could see it- there was nothing to be gained from the act. The two were so far removed from each other status-wise. Why would a girl like Orihime plot to poison Yoruichi- one of the few influential figures in the tribe who had the power to make her life better?

Rukia wasn't convinced, still believed that the only thing Orihime was guilty of was behaving suspiciously and getting rid of the poison. It didn't necessarily mean that she had poisoned Yoruichi and it didn't mean that she had done so willingly.

She might be coerced or forced- just a victim in any case.

"Does it matter, Healer Rukia? Why are you coming to me with your findings? Present them to the Sheikh! It seems quite obvious that she is the culprit. Either way my house will harbor no criminals and if you do not present the findings to the Sheikh tomorrow, I will do so myself!"

Rukia realized a little too late that coming here was a mistake on her part.

She had brought the discovery to Elder Kasumioji, thinking that he would at least put up a fight- maybe offer a deeper insight or suggest a different point of view that she was missing, challenge her, ask her questions and not just come to the same conclusion that she has since his own family, the good name of his own household was at stake.

But she was wrong- it seemed that she was the only one who cared about the poor girl's innocence. Orihime's uncle- her own kin wasn't interested in anything beyond the fact that he wouldn't be affected. His nonchalance irked her and his willingness to simply accept the findings as they were- was exactly the thing she had hoped to avoid.

Wasn't he interested in finding the real poisoner? Wasn't he personally invested to see that Yoruichi survived the attempt on her life?

They were political allies. His standing and status within the tribe were tied with that of the young sheikh's position in power and the latter's grasp on politics hinged on the survival of his aunt. The chains of power and mutual interest bind even the staunchest of blood purists.

They were all in this together so why wasn't he even _trying_ to pin this on his political enemies?

.

"Elder Kasumioji, this does not make sense! You know as well as I do that Orihime gains nothing from poison-"

.

 _Her father is a key supporter,_ _**second** _ _only to Yoruichi in terms of seniority and rank within the tribe._

.

The thought that flashed through her mind was a sudden moment of clarity.

The chains bind but they do not extend- the Sheikh's power may hinge on the survival of his aunt but Elder Kasumioji's didn't!

She had been looking at the whole thing from the wrong perspective- thrown off the scent, misled even in some way by the accusations from earlier in the morning.

It was all too easy to shift the blame over to Grimmjow's faction, but it was too obvious, too convenient. They were the first suspects that come to mind and Grimmjow may be dumb and vicious but he wasn't blind, couldn't possibly have survived this long if he didn't have the sense to even _see_ how this would play out.

Why would he put himself at such risk?

It wasn't just the opposing faction that had the most to be gained from Yoruichi's death. Her own allies could also benefit from the power vacuum and with her gone, no one stood more to gain than the second best.

And best of all, no one would even suspect him of it.

"It was you!"

The man's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"

"Neither of the girls have anything to gain from poisoning Yoruichi. Your daughter is about to marry into the Kurosaki family. Even if she was trying to wrestle control from Yoruichi the move is premature and too extreme. There are other ways so why would she go down that route unless she was being forced to? But who would have the power to force her to do anything at all when she's the daughter of an Elder and about to become the most powerful woman in the tribe? I can only assume that person to be you- her father but she is your own flesh and blood. You wouldn't even _dream_ of putting her in harm, especially if there was a risk of someone finding out and the plan backfiring. But Orihime?"

The healer scowled. She should have seen it earlier.

"Orihime is the perfect tool. She's expendable, powerless and completely at your mercy. She doesn't stand out amongst the visitors to Yoruichi's and she cannot speak out. You control what provisions she receives, what food portions she gets, who she marries; and you _made_ her poison Yoruichi!"

Elder Kasumioji's fist tightened, trembling with thinly veiled anger. "Hold your tongue, you witch!"

"I will not!"

She will not be silenced, especially not by him.

.

"You _ordered_ Orihime to poison Yoruichi, because you want to replace Yoruichi as Ichigo's right hand man! You told Orihime to get rid of the evidence but she didn't have the time. She didn't think anyone would drop by so quickly for a visit and after that she never had the time to sneak away. Not until later in the evening."

Orihime had done the best she could to avoid detection. She couldn't possibly have known that Rukia was hiding in wait for her.

But Elder Kasumioji was already a step ahead of them and now, he was perfectly ready to put the blame completely on Orihime and let her take the fall.

Never mind that the girl had no motive to begin with, Rukia knew the Council would be all too happy to sweep the entire incident under the rug as long as a perpetrator was named- a face was assigned to be made a public example of.

The elder's breathings were labored and then quite suddenly came the roaring laughter- the cackles of a mad man who did not seem upset to have his plans uncovered.

"I don't want to _replace_ that bitch! I am merely reclaiming what was mine all along! The bitch didn't know her place, kept trying to meddle into the affairs of the tribe when she really should be at home running her household. We may have tolerated it in the beginning but she held on to power for too long- wouldn't listen when we asked nicely for her to stop and that husbandof hers is _useless_ in curbing her. I have waited too long for this! You though?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Yammy was right when he said you're going to be a problem but it doesn't matter. You may have saved her from a sudden death but her fate is sealed- the dose that Orihime managed to slip her is strong and even if she is stable now, she won't last long without an antidote."

He grinned- blackened teeth showing and Rukia felt sick. It was disgusting what lengths some people were willing to go to for power.

"And both you and I know there is no antidote for oleander poisoning."

She dropped into a defensive stance- hands itching for a blade that wasn't there.

"Well now that I know your plan- what are you going to do? Are you going to kill me?"

"Kill you?" he scoffed, "Don't be so melodramatic! I need you. I can't get Orihime to enter the tent now that guards have been placed. You'll do it for me. That woman is stubborn and hard to kill but no matter- even if the first dose wasn't strong enough to kill her; the second dose definitely will!"

Rukia glared.

"And if I refuse?"

He shrugged, "by all means. You can go to the boy you call Sheikh- tell him what I told you, unmask me as the mastermind so to speak, but there's no way you will able to prove it. It's your word against mine, unless you want to bring Orihime before the Council and interrogate her but we both know what she'll say."

Rukia clenched her fists hard. This man was beyond vile.

"Who do you think Ichigo will believe then? His future father-in-law or a little healer he picked up?"

"You—"

"I understand you have a dilemma. You seem like the sort- with your bleeding heart and saintly _conscience_ ," he sneered, "so I will be kind- you have till sunrise to decide. But know this- oleander poison is potent and Yoruichi is already too far gone."

His smile made her skin crawl.

"Let Orihime take the fall. You seem like the clever sort so don't make the mistake of trying to be a hero. Save yourself while you still can and I will show you mercy later when I come into power. Or don't- but you won't like me and the future matriarch as enemies."

He smirked, "Make your decisions wisely."

.

.

.

.

The sun had barely peaked when she snuck into the tent- stealthy, quiet and one with the shadows; satisfied that both the Kurosaki twins and Nanao had trusted the safety of their patient in the hands of the posted guards before leaving for the comforts of their own _bayt_.

She blended with the darkness of her surroundings, easily evading the guards with a well-timed distraction. She made her move- somersaulting through the air with the practiced ease of a jewel thief and landed safely within the confines of the tent.

There wasn't another minute to lose.

Uncorking the flask, her hands were shaking as she fed Yoruichi the concoction- a poisonous blend of oleander leaves steeped in boiled water and as the last drop trickled past the lady's chapped lips; Rukia heaved a sigh of relief.

Her mission- her duty to her Goddess came first. The deed was done and whatever that happened next she could only pray that she had done the right thing.

.

.

.

.

When she arrived at the Kasumioji's _bayt,_ the elder was there waiting for her- taunting her with his smugness and barely-contained glee.

Rukia's disdain for the man flared but she understood what was at stake. In this battle, she had to make sure she lived long enough to fight another day, to see to it that the Intended is stopped at all cost to prevent the deaths of millions.

"It is done. The news that she passed will be released tomorrow. I'll tell the Sheikh that her symptoms worsened overnight."

He nodded in approval. One day was more than enough time for him to tie up loose ends and remove any incriminating evidence. No one will notice the disappearance of a girl- or two-in the midst of mourning for their tribe matriarch.

"You've done well, Healer."

She scowled, delivering her parting shot as she marched towards the exit. "Whatever happens next I _hope_ that you can live with yourself and the decision that you've made."

She knew then the man's twisted grin was going to haunt her for the nights to come.

"I could say the same for you, Healer. How does it feel knowing that you've just committed murder?"

.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. 🤓


	7. Viper (I)

.

The warm glow of the fire and the effects of alcohol lent a rosy tinge to the cheeks of the men as they sat around the fire. The mood was festive as toasts were made and the cups made to overflow with liquor.

The normally severe Elder Kasumioji was in a rare mood. The slosh of alcohol spilled over the front of his tunic as he drank and guffawed with laughter. These were the men from his clan- sons, nephews, cousins; and these were the men that he would use to build a legacy with.

He's close- so close that he could practically taste it, achieving what he had been waiting for so long. Finally he was going to show the bitch who was in charge; that he was the better player- stronger, smarter than she ever will be.

A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him but much of it offset by euphoria.

With a grunt, he pushed himself up, stumbling on his feet as he made his way back into his _bayt_ , retiring for the night _._ His hands shook as he fidgeted- trying to light the candle was a task that he was much better-suited for when he was sober.

Somehow he managed the impossible and plopped down on the carpet, nursing a pounding head. Water- he had finished the jug before he was even aware of it but the thirst lingered, his mouth dry.

Outside, the cacophony of men lulled. The noise gave way and paled in comparison to beat of his heart and the pounding in his head. There was something strange about the glow of the candles, an odd ring around the light that wouldn't go away no matter how much he blinked.

Instincts had him grabbing the hilt of his _shamshir._ Battle-hardened senses took over when his sight faltered. His body relived the memories of a younger man, standing over broken bodies and empty stares; burying brothers after cousins, and cousins after brothers until he was the only one left standing.

.

Killer or killed, kill or be killed. There is no middle ground.

The rules of the battleground were barbaric in their simplicity.

.

He tightened his grip and made up his mind in an instant.

He was safer in the confines of his tent. Ignoring the pounding of his heart and his weakening eyes, he paced the perimeter warily, cautious of sudden movements and enemies jumping out at him from the shadows.

"Show yourself!"

The silence of the desert night echoed back and he growled. He did not appreciate being toyed with. He tightened his grip of his blade as he cried out louder.

"Come out, you coward!"

.

.

Slowly out the corner of his eye, a hint of something appeared- growing from a smudge of purple to something vaguely humanoid in appearance. The silvery glow of the moon was both haunting and alluring on her.

His eyes widened.

.

How could it be?

.

The sight of her almost had him wetting himself. The _shamshir_ dropped from his grip. The heavy weight of the blade made a sound as it hit the carpet while he backed himself into a corner.

"But you're dead!"

The healer fed her the second dose.

She's dead!

That bitch was supposed to be dead so why was she here?

Was she a ghost?

"On the contrary, I am alive and will continue to do so for a long time. You on the other hand," said Yoruichi, "will not live to see the next dawn."

She picked up the discarded sword, and pointed the blade at him. The heel of her slipper grounded against his chest as she stared down. The pitiful groan that he choked out music to her ears.

His sanity was briefly restored as he fixed his gaze on her. This woman before him was flesh and bones; not a spectre or a feverish dream concocted under the influence of alcohol and fear. Pain had helped to dissuade him of the foolish notion.

"How did you survive the poisoning?"

Sudden pain radiating from his stomach to his chest and spreading to a fine tremor in his limbs made him double over, trying his best to swallow his cries of agony as he writhed. How- how did she survive?

There is no antidote to oleander poisoning!

Kumoi's eyes widened.

"Orihime -"

Of course, that wench betrayed him!

But no- it didn't make sense if Yoruichi was never poisoned to begin with- what about her symptoms? A tent full of women saw her fainting and the healer gave her the second dose.

He was sure of it!

Yoruichi pressed the tip of the sword against his neck, not enough to break skin or draw blood. But it was worth it to see the fear in his eyes. She grinned, flicking his forehead playfully.

"All in due time, Kumoi. But first, how does it feel to know for all the great cleverness that you boast; here you lie, bested by a woman?"

"You tricked me!"

Yoruichi scoffed. "I _goaded_ you. _You_ took the bait."

There was a part of her that almost felt disappointed. He had been a worthy adversary for the most part of the game until he got impatient.

"Didn't it occur to you that the timing was almost too good to be true? After _years_ of being against the proposal that I would finally acquiesced to arranging a match between the two families?"

Kumoi growled. Pain made it hard to focus. He was drowning in an overwhelming sea of yellow and regret as he forced himself to breathe through his nose.

Yoruichi watched on with indifference. She felt nothing for him, nothing for his pain. Just as Kumoi had felt nothing but glee at her demise, neither could she find it within her to feign her apathy. He had underestimated her, thought that his niece would give in to his every demand, obedient by default for the control he has over every aspect of her life; but even the tamest of rabbits will bite when cornered.

There was poetic justice in knowing that it was Orihime- the pawn he sought to sacrifice in his gambit was the one who ushered his downfall.

Oh how the mighty have fallen!

.

She taunted him, "There were so many instances up until the moment you gave the poison to Orihime to back down. Why didn't you?"

Yes- why didn't he?

Since the very beginning, there was something at the back of his mind that needled him, telling him to wait it out. He could have if he wanted to.

He had no one to blame but himself. It was entirely as Yoruichi had said, he took the bait.

Greed got the better of him and his gut feeling pushed aside in favour of the timing- the timing was too good to be missed. An opportunity like that wouldn't come again- not when he could feel himself growing weaker every day. His son- his successor was nowhere near ready. The witch would run circles around him, manipulate him like a puppet on a string and he would be none the wiser.

Time was not on his side. This was his last chance and he would be damned if he didn't seize it.

Hollow laughter boomed, ah crippling ambitions! –

His plan had been perfect. Had he succeeded he would have killed two birds- maybe more- with one stone: clearing the path for his rise to the top, finally getting rid of the miserable witch and his daughter would be the unopposed matriarch once she is wed to their young sheikh.

There was nothing more to say.

He saw his opening, made his gambit and ran with the risks; the bitch was getting old and the load of running her personal household, her role as matriarch and maintaining her position on the Council was finally getting to her. Time finally made her see sense: that the two were stronger as one and a woman- even if she were a woman born into power had no right to a seat within the Council.

He should have known that it was too good to be true.

The next wave of pain came unannounced, robbing him of his thoughts and dignity. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees when the pain took over; desperate hands grasping at the ends of her dress.

His heart clenched, as though someone had gotten hold of the organ and was intent on squeezing the life out of it; a sheet of cold sweat washed over him. The burning in his throat- the dread coiling, expanding- the stench of bile and piss became overpowering within the confines of his tent.

What was happening to him?

What did the witch _do_?

.

"Does it feel like your heart is about to burst? Your innards on fire? Does it hurt to even _breathe_?"

Yoruichi smiled. If only he could see the look on his face!

"Take note, _this_ ," she dug her heel harder against his chest, "is how it feels to die by oleander poisoning!"

He gasped. Something coppery and thick made its way past his lips and the pain- oh the pain made it hard to even _think_.

"I won't beg," he told her. Past his blood-stained teeth and broken body there lied still an old lion- battered and blinded but proud till the very end.

He already lost. He wouldn't let the bitch have the satisfaction of seeing him break.

"I don't expect you to. How about a little parting gift instead? They always did say that it was better to die with no regrets, don't you agree?"

His palms had indents carved into the flesh, deep, crescent-shaped and bleeding from the effort to keep his pain out of sight.

.

"Let's talk about your choice of poison. Quite ironic there. Uncle always did call me his desert rose-" her lips curled- "Did you perhaps take inspiration from that? Or had someone _accidentally_ let slip something in a conversation? Just like how you came to the idea of using your niece- I wonder; were my daily habits something that you overheard by _chance_ as well?"

Her laughter chilled him to his core, but even that was nothing compared to the realization that he had been played by the Kurosakis. Both aunt and nephew knew about his plans and had worked to turn it against him.

Desperation wasn't his only downfall- the plan was doomed from the start. Everything was starting to make sense and he was only just seeing it.

"T-The boy k-knew?"

That was all he managed to rasp before the pain took over again.

"Here's a piece of advice," she offered, as the man clutched his heart, his lips turning blue, "the lioness protects her own and pretty flowers in the desert can be just as deadly as the scorpion's sting."

She crouched low to whisper into his ear, "I will delight in burning and destroying everything you once hold dear. You dream of leaving behind a legacy?"

The light faded from his eyes.

.

.

"I will _crush_ that dream."

.

.

.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oleander (a.k.a. the desert rose) contains oleandrin (a potent cardiac glycoside). Know what other chemicals belong to the same family as oleandrin? Digitalis (from foxglove)- also known as digoxin which is still used today to treat congestive heart failure.
> 
> Modern medicine is amazing- oleander poisoning is treatable.


	8. Viper (II)

.

Twenty six fresh corpses were laid out in white under a temporary tent erected for the sole purpose of housing the dead while the living stood under a barely risen sun. All the grown men from the Kasumioji household, including that of the venerable Elder Kasumioji- the head of the clan, had died inexplicably overnight.

The council elders surveyed the scene of wailing women and screaming children woodenly, wondering how narrowly had their own families avoided the same fate as it became quite clear that this was no accident. It had to be connected to Yoruichi's poisoning.

Angry shrieks of terror and grief came from women widowed from the night before.

Who would speak for them now when only women and children were left?

Who would know the anguish of twenty six widowed women, mothers made to bury their sons, and the children forced to grow up without their fathers?

Their despair choked them and in their moment of grief, their gaze turned towards that of their leader. They were scared, shocked- trying to make sense of the tragedy and pick up the pieces of their lives as the bereaved but overwhelmingly, they were hungry for revenge.

Someone must pay for the lives incurred- the lives of spouses, sons and brothers! The souls of the departed would know no peace until the blood debt is righted and paid in full.

The look on Ichigo's face was grave. The Kasumiojis were in shambles. There wasn't an able-bodied man left from the clan to saddle a horse let alone succeed the position of Elder and serve their sheikh, as for Yoruichi- the woman was not dead yet but everyone knew it was only a matter of time; those who don't stir after two days of sleep are never far away from death's door.

Over the course of two days the Sheikh had lost his two main supporters- his hold on the seat of power teetering. Some had their hands inching towards their swords, eyes darting warily between that of their young sheikh and Grimmjow- his strongest contender.

Peace between the two factions was disturbingly fragile. Now the scales have tipped considerably and any shift in power was bound to be calamitous. If Grimmjow were to stage a coup today and seize power, it was anyone's guess who would be the last man standing and who would be Sheikh.

Ichigo spoke first, addressing his main concern.

.

"Healer Rukia have you found the cause of death?"

Rukia looked up from her knelt position. The body she was currently examining was the last of the victims. All of them had thrown up or soiled themselves prior to their deaths. The stench was revolting and the dark brown stain very telling- the poison wreaked havoc on their organs, made them bleed from the inside and stopped their hearts.

"These men were poisoned."

The ensuing silence was terse. She merely confirmed what everyone had suspected all along but the impact of those words was heavy. The bereaved were still huddled in their corner of tears and grief and upon hearing that, one of the older women threw herself to the ground- her clothes torn and her face dirty, while she implored the young sheikh in the shrillest of voices.

"Avenge us!"

.

.

A sudden high-pitched scream interrupted them.

The first to react- Rukia ran towards the source; trailed behind by a gaggle of curious men and equally perplexed elders, more so when it became apparent that the scream originated from within the Kasumioji encampment.

The remaining survivors hastened their pace.

Within Rurichiyo's tent, shards of ceramic and pottery littered the ground. Orihime was curled into a ball, shaking like a leaf. She had stopped screaming by the time the crowd gathered but the muted horror echoed in her eyes fixed on her cousin's body.

Rukia crept forward, Ichigo behind her and after him- came the Council.

It was not a pretty sight.

Rurichiyo's eyes were glassy and wide; a thin trail of dried blood clung to the corner of her lips. The girl was dead- her body crumpled on the afghan carpet; had probably been dead for some time now with how stiff her body was and the awkward framing of her outstretched hand.

Not far away from the fallen body was an overturned chalice- its contents have long since dried but a faint hint of something lingered on the inside.

Rukia picked up the silver cup and sniffed at it, ignoring the open look of disgust on some of the men's faces. It was a dirty, thankless job that she had been tasked with. With the body of a dead girl lying by their feet, now was hardly the time to be squeamish.

Her lips tightened into a grim line. The smell of the alcohol was unmistakable and the implications were vile.

.

"To the campsite."

The men had been drinking the night before. The embers of the bonfire may have long since died but the sealed barrels of _arak_ were still standing, left untouched in the wake of the tragedy.

The clue was in those barrels.

"Break them!"

The men stood still, watching her strange behaviour warily. They would not move without their sheikh's order. When it became apparent that no man would step up and act, Rukia grabbed hold of one of the smaller flask and hurled it towards the scorched earth with all her might.

.

_Crack!_

_._

The smell of aniseed and alcohol wafted through the air.

Rukia could almost hear the men bemoaning the waste of good _arak_. The sour look they shot her spoke volumes about what they thought of her senseless destruction of alcohol. She ignored their glares and scowls.

They would thank her later.

.

Bright pink oleander petals followed the trail of liquor that dripped from the cracked barrel.

Eyes widened. The wailing got louder as did the cries of disbelief from angry men as they realized that they have found the poison and the murder weapon.

Ichigo pushed past the enraged mass. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the soaked flowers and broken ceramic. The set of his jaw tightened.

"Where did the barrels come from?"

The women collectively shook their heads. It wasn't their place to question their husbands, yet all could attest that this particular batch was not made by them. Their homemade brew was sealed differently. As to why the men would be stupid enough to drink a brew that was not made by the womenfolk of their family, general idiocy notwithstanding, the _arak_ must have been gifted by someone they trusted.

The obvious question remained- _Who_?

"Make way."

The crowd obeyed, parting for the newcomer as she emerged.

Yoruichi- regal and dignified despite her ashen appearance moved into the line of sight, joining Rukia and her nephew as she made her way through. Her presence stirred the crowd. Gasps of surprise and relief heralded her arrival, the almost reverent adoration in their eyes as they cleared the way for her.

And this- thought Rukia; was how you made an entrance.

.

Rukia's gaze swept across the Council who gathered to the right of their sheikh- noting the faces of those who failed to hide their surprise, and those whose face betrayed nothing from the moment they had seen Yoruichi's appearance. The latter were the ones she needed to watch out for.

The Sheikh on the other hand, seemed much too calm. His eyes barely read any hint of surprise, as if this miraculous comeback was a development that he had already been made aware of.

Good leaders are experts of feigned composure but even then there was a limit to it. Rukia suddenly had the awful suspicion that she had been played.

"You knew all along?" snapped Rukia. She went through all that trouble, had come so close to losing everything when _he_ knew all along and made her go through it anyway!

Ichigo merely smirked in response- neither confirming nor denying the possibility before turning his gaze towards his aunt, pointedly avoiding Rukia's gaze and further questions.

She scowled. That man was beyond infuriating!

Yoruichi cleared her throat and the attention of the mass shifted towards her. The looming question was there in their eyes and they awaited her answer with bated breath.

.

_How?_

_._

How did she survive the poisoning?

The crowd wanted to know. Last they heard their lady was unconscious and fading yet here she stood before them- alive and whole. Surely this was a miracle- a blessing from their ancestors!

Rukia bit her tongue, bowing as graciously as she could to the older woman before retreating to the side. The stage- the battleground was now primed and at the center stood Yoruichi and Ichigo. They were out for blood.

"We have been deceived."

Despite her weakened appearance, Yoruichi's voice was steady. The opening statement had her audience captivated, "The killer lurks amongst us and he almost succeeded in his plans. But the spirits and the ancestors have spoken, they have granted me protection and now I stand before you, alive and well. I will unmask him."

Eyes gleaming and finger extended, Yoruichi pointed her assailant out and in one swift move exposed him to the angry tribesmen.

.

"Yammy, you're the poisoner!"

Predictably people were caught off guard.

"Lies!"

Yammy spluttered, reeling from the shock of Yoruichi's accusations.

"Where is the proof to your accusation?" Grimmjow barked, already taking over, already mounting his counterattack, while his followers were still confused and surprised.

The men at this point were united in their front; some outright glaring at Grimmjow. They didn't care for his interruption or any interruption of any sort. They wanted to know more, more of the intriguing truth that Yoruichi was unmasking before them.

And so Yoruichi continued unperturbed- openly dismissive of Grimmjow, "I wasn't the intended target for the poisoning."

A hushed silence befell the crowd.

"The intended targets were the Kasumiojis all along. Rurichiyo unknowingly brought that _arak_ over to me as a present when she visited me with her cousin. Little did I know that her kind gesture and my appreciation of good _arak_ would have killed me had Healer Rukia not been present."

"L-Lies!"

Yammy's stammer was seen as indicative of his guilt. Women- poor, frail widows were suddenly forces of nature that could only be held back by men ten times their strength. They fought against their hold, kicking, screaming, spitting at the murderer.

Wiping the trail of spit that ran down his face, Yammy glared at Yoruichi. Curse that woman and her blatant lies!

There were no gifts of _arak_ made. The plan that morning was simple, the Orihime girl was supposed to add the poison into the woman's coffee when she was visiting. The bitterness of it would have masked the taste of the oleander.

Evidently she had betrayed them and now—

He gulped.

Now he had played right into the bitch's hands.

There was a gleam of satisfaction flashing behind her eyes before she turned to address him in a voice that rang of righteous fury.

"Yammy- you _dare_ accuse me of lying! Speak then- what is the truth?"

The truth wasn't an option.

Yammy couldn't possibly admit that he and Elder Kasumioji have been working together to poison the tribe matriarch. Yoruichi had survived it and now she was out for blood. Somehow she must have learnt about his involvement as well.

"Why would I poison the Kasumiojis?" he countered instead. He refused to answer for the crimes that she had pinned on him. For all his failings he had not murdered those men and for that he did not deserve the wrath of the bereaved.

"What could I possibly gain from killing them?"

Yammy sneered. He wasn't stupid. If Yoruichi had thought she could wrangle a confession out of him simply by using words of crafted story and playing to the emotions of the crowd, then the bitch had obviously underestimated him as well.

"I have poisoned no man. Poisons are of cowardly means, more suited to _women_ who cannot answer to the weight of a blade in their hands."

Yoruichi did not rise to his less-than subtle insinuations. All the sneers and taunts from him wouldn't make a difference as she stood before the gathered crowd- silent but poised.

Ichigo had seen and heard enough. Clearing his throat loudly, he asked, "Can anyone vouch for your claims, Yoruichi?"

"My husband recalled seeing something strange a few days ago. With your permission, I would like to call on him as a witness."

The Sheikh's approval was a reluctant one.

By virtue of being her spouse, the tribe's obligatory eccentric was also the godfather of the young sheikh. Yet despite his elevated position and the fact that he had married into the prestigious Kurosaki family decades ago, the tribesmen still called him Urahara the fool.

It wasn't hard to see why. From his green-striped bucket hat right down to the soles of his strange sandals, the man was unabashedly odd- that much Rukia had gleaned from their first encounter between a healer and her patient's grief-stricken husband. Without that guise of sorrow the man's eccentricity was projected unfiltered to the world and he wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed by it.

.

"Well I was going about my business that fine morning- goat herding is of course very serious business as you may all know. I had just had bread for breakfast and the lovely-"

" _Dearest_ I don't think we're interested in knowing what you had for breakfast. Skip the irrelevant parts please."

The heavy sigh he heaved as he acquiesced to his wife's demands suggested that he was being asked to pluck out the moon from the starry night sky instead.

"Very well. I left after saying goodbye to my lovely wife. Her beauty sings to me like the break of dawn on hallowed ground, like the moment I opened my eyes and saw breakfast laid o-"

" _Dearest_ we talked about this. Skip your irrelevant musings."

It was a credit to Yoruichi that she didn't even react to the exaggerated praises or perhaps that was a thing that married couples learned to tolerate. In another life, Rukia mused that the man would have made a successful bard.

"But _dearest_ this is about _you_! You are the most important part of my day! How can any part of you be irrelevant?"

"Get on with it!" Ichigo snapped.

Urahara didn't even blink at the outburst. The expression on his face stayed overwhelmingly neutral as though they were talking about the weather instead. "I overhead the two elders while I was out herding. Yammy told Kumoi that he wants them to become a proper family by marrying his daughter."

A sly smile as he tipped his hat in mock salute, "It seems that our lovely Rurichiyo had garnered the attention of a most ardent suitor whose heart beats only for her."

Yammy's face burnt, feeling the openly disapproving glares from the womenfolk. It was true of course that the Kasumioji girl was beautiful. With her blonde hair and glimmering eyes and more importantly, very hefty dowry, it was enough to tempt even the most pious of men.

But this—

"Didn't he just bury his wife?"

"Yes! That was his third wife by the way, didn't you know? Nanao tried her best but the mother lost too much blood. He told her to save the child first."

"Shame!"

Someone in the crowd jeered and the tribesmen were inclined to agree.

By all accounts the mother's death was preventable but she was too young and the child too big, and when it came to it the Elder was more interested in preserving his bloodline- the proof of his virility despite his age than that of his young wife. Three moons later, he was already sniffing after a replacement.

It seemed that age had finally addled his brain. Everyone knew Kumoi was saving the Kasumioji girl as a potential bride for their young sheikh. Hath the man no shame?

Before Yammy could deny the unflattering accusations, Urahara was already off on another tangent- "And in return for the girl's hand in marriage Yammy would act as a spy for the Sheikh instead. But Kumoi righteously rejected him and threatened to reveal his schemes to Grimmjow if he didn't stop pestering him."

A collective shudder crept down their spines as Grimmjow's men regarded him with barely concealed fear. He roared and grabbed the older man by the throat, raising him above ground.

"Yammy is that true?"

Yammy's face paled. His master's fury melted iron and knew no restraint as his hold tightened. Madness gleamed in those eyes and when his anger took over –

It became hard to breathe.

"N-No! W-Why-?"

"For revenge," said Yoruichi simply, "A dead man tells no tales but you weren't content to just bury one man to hide your shame and wounded pride, you went one step further to make sure that even if we knew who the murderer was- the Kasumiojis would have no warriors to call upon and exact justice! _You poisoned all of them!_ "

The crowds turned amongst themselves, so that was what it was then- a revenge killing.

They cast a wary glance at the direction of the snarling man still holding Yammy by his throat. They were no stranger to his cruelty. Some have witnessed the beatings of slaves and servants if one was unfortunate enough to incur his wrath and the man was a berserker when enraged. Even a company of grown men would have difficulty in prying him off his victim when he was in one of his 'moods'.

If Yammy could bring himself to serve a bloodthirsty man like Grimmjow- would it be too far a stretch to assume that he would be capable of an act just as heinous?

Grimmjow growled at Yoruichi, releasing his grip on Yammy and letting the latter crumple to the ground from the sudden absence of support, gasping for air. "You expect us to believe that? This man is your husband. You have no other witnesses!"

Yoruichi's gaze sharpened.

.

"I saw him at the tent with Grandfather two days ago."

.

The voice came from the gathered crowd. Small and timid at first it grew louder as the adults realized the gravity of his words. Seeing the glare from Grimmjow, the boy's mother gave him a sharp tug, clamping a hand over his mouth while attempting to shield his tiny body with hers. She had already lost a husband today- she wasn't about to lose her only son to that mad man as well.

"Let him speak."

Yoruichi asked, "What did they talk about then, Kon?"

Kon wrestled free from his mother's hold. "He came to apologize. He brought the _arak_ to show his sincerity."

Yammy seethed. That was only half the story. The brat had only caught part of the conversation. The apology was for doubting the plan would work; not for whatever fanciful story that the bitch and her husband had pulled out of their arses. He may have brought the _arak_ but in no way were they poisoned.

What was Kumoi's grandson doing there and how could Yoruichi have known?

Just how far did her reach extend- how was she able to convince someone within the Kasumioji household to aid her?

"Did he say anything else?"

Kon chewed at his lips- his eyes were still swollen from crying. "No. They left the tent soon after."

Yammy scoffed. "You believe the words of a boy who was eavesdropping on the conversations of his elders? What were you even doing there, _boy_?"

Kon swiped at the angry tears. He wasn't a boy- he was his father's son and heir. His family depended on him. The good name of the Kasumioji clan and the responsibility of re-establishing themselves lied with him now. No one- none would ever see his tears.

"I was stealth training! And I will train to be a great swordsman under Sheikh Ichigo. Someday-" his breath choked- "someday I will avenge my father and grandfather."

Yoruichi stepped forward, blocking Kon from Yammy's view. Her eyes sought out Grimmjow.

"Here's your proof!" she declared, "I have here the words of a boy who saw Yammy together with his grandfather- the late Elder Kasumioji. I believe that a visit to the Llargo family compound is long overdue."

.

.

.


	9. Viper (III)

.

Ichigo watched on with impartiality as the men conducted their search of the Llargo compound. The search on the women's side was being organized by his aunt even without him prompting and he was perfectly content with letting her have the reins over that.

The healer had stalked off in the same direction, trailing after his aunt. The look of annoyance she had shot him earlier amused him.

How much did she know of his involvement in the incident?

"My sheikh!"

The man before him bowed, presenting before him a parcel wrapped in rough linen. It was nothing impressive but as he unwrapped it, the crowd fell silent at the sight of the bright pink flowers.

This was evidence enough and Yammy's fate was sealed.

He chanced a glance at the man standing beside him. Grimmjow exploded- his anger devastating as he kicked Yammy in the soft underbelly, watching remorselessly as the once-proud Elder drop to a quivering mess on his knees, licking his boots as he begged for mercy, crying that he was framed.

"You lied to **ME**?!"

"N-N-No, p-please- I beg of you- I never -"

The next kick caught Yammy in the center of his chest and for a moment, Ichigo thought he could hear the sound of his ribcage cracking under the pressure. The gurgle of blood that sprouted effectively muted his argument as he grovelled on all four, hand clutching at his chest, trying to breathe. Grimmjow was a consummate fighter and it was a one-sided slaughter as he continued- raining down punches and kicks on the man he used to regard as his right hand.

The inhumane ordeal lasted merely minutes but by the end of it the elder was almost unrecognizable- rendered almost blind and disfigured with a broken jaw and blood dripping down the corners of his mouth, wheezing.

"P-Ple-"

Ichigo looked away. Yammy was dead and the man didn't even know it, still begging for scraps- at another chance to prove his innocence at the feet of his cruel master.

But Grimmjow was well past the point of rationality and well past the point of listening to reason now. His pride and ego was bruised- Yammy's actions made him look like a fool and for that he was going to die. No man would intervene or stop him for fear of being the next victim and having the focus of that untameable rage shifted.

Driven mad by his rage and lust for blood, Grimmjow drew his blade from the sheath and before anyone could stop him- lopped off Yammy's head!

.

The crowd turned their gaze away. Blood spurted forth like a geyser from the headless corpse, staining shifting sands and human faces alike.

The body fell- dropping forward but the head with its owner's eyes still open, rolled- the shrieks of shock and terror did nothing to impede its movement until it came to lay itself at Ichigo's feet.

Severed mid-neck, the expression on Yammy's face was perfectly preserved. The stare from him was wide, hollow and accusatory, the mouth hanging open from being cut off mid-sentence- frozen in the horrors of his last moments in life.

Ichigo let the hollowness of the moment sink in, felt the crowd simmer from their collective shock, counted to ten; then he simply kicked it away.

Some men, it seemed; never learn.

Yammy's mistake, Ichigo mused; was to leave himself wide open for an attack without even attempting to shield himself. His mistake was never learning from the fact that for a paranoid power-hungry mad man no voice of reason was ever going to be good enough and even the slightest bit of doubt was enough to strip away years of careful service and acts of dedication.

His aunt taught him well- some sacrifices are well worth it. He may have lost the Kasumiojis but Grimmjow lost the Llargos- chopped the head clean off and burnt bridges asunder. His blatant cruelty was hardly about to inspire loyalty.

Survivors of the Llargo clan kowtowed. Their shame marked them but the instinct for survival burnt stronger. They begged for clemency- to be spared from the same fate as their head of the clan. It was a weakness of the moment, an error in judgment yet they had nothing to do with it; they were just unlucky enough to share the same blood as the man.

They implored _him_ \- the rightful heir instead of their old master and for that they would live.

Ichigo's gaze turned towards his cousin- chest heaving and fresh blood still dripping from his blade. His wild eyes were unfocused, lost in the grips of his madness. It would take him awhile to recover from his episode.

"Exile."

The fate of the Llargos was declared amidst shouts of outrage and relief. It was the best he could do. Sins of the father and blood debts cannot be waived off- not without consequences.

"Sheikh Ichigo, what of our vengeance?"

He could see the dark look Yoruichi was giving him. Exiling the Llargos was not part of the plan. The Kasumiojis were expecting a bloodbath and his aunt was of the opinion that it was the clean end that was favourable to all parties involved.

Ichigo chanced a glimpse at his people. He could see the same rage, the hunger for vengeance still lurking in the Kasumiojis but enough blood has been shed for the day. He will have to appease them some other way.

.

"We have suffered enough loss today. Let us for the moment focus on the living instead. The Llargos are to leave at once. By noon the tribe will cut all ties with the clan and their crimes will mark them. Their presence will not be tolerated and they will be killed on sight if ever seen again."

His mind was made and because he was Sheikh, no one was about to contradict him. Power was absolute and his word was law. Survivors- able-bodied, weak and feeble alike scrambled as fast as they could.

His aunt's wan smile was purposeful.

The show had to go on. A good sheikh doled out punishments and rewards in equal measurements.

.

He cleared his throat, "I call forth Orihime, formerly of the clan Kasumioji."

The girl's gait was unsteady like a new born gazelle when she was summoned before him. The crowd looked on with sympathy. With her teary-eyed gaze and her wild hair, she seemed to be merely a step away from fainting. The crowd didn't blame her- death seemed to follow her.

Wasn't she the one who found her cousin's body that morning? With her uncle dead, she was now truly alone and fatherless.

"The tribe accepted you as one of our own after your mother's divorce. When she died, your uncle became your guardian. And now even he has passed. Would you still like to stay with the tribe?"

Orihime's head bowed even lower.

"Y-Yes."

The women in her family shared an uneasy look among them. They were sympathetic of the girl's plight but her presence was troubling- letting her stay would mean another mouth to feed, marrying her off would mean coming up with her dowry, parting with valuable resources. In fact never mind her lack of dowry, her path was now tainted with death.

Who would want such an unlucky bride?

.

"Your uncle was a kind and honourable man. I am-" he paused, correcting himself, "I was fond of him. His death- and the deaths of so many great Kasumioji warriors- was tragic but his spirit lives on. He would have liked to see his family taken care of; his favourite niece well looked after."

Rukia fought the urge to snort. The man's forked tongue weaved lies and nothing more yet the tribesmen were hanging on to his every word. He didn't deserve their trust.

"Y-Yes."

"I would like to adopt you into my household," said Ichigo, "My sisters have always been fond of you and we will accept you as our full-blooded sibling. You will want for nothing ever again. This I swear upon my honour."

The news sent ripples throughout the community. The womenfolk's eyes widened. What a change in fortune! Their envious gazes said as much.

Orihime lifted her head. Her expression read shock, surprise, a dash of panic as she rose; almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. Ichigo raised an eyebrow at the spectacle but Yoruichi was quicker.

"N-No! Wa-"

She cut short Orihime's protest; easily enveloped her into a hug, squeezing her tight as she welcomed the latest addition into the clan.

"So modest and humble- our little Orihime," cooed the lady as she pinched the young girl's cheeks, "You must be so excited to see your new sisters! Will you not thank your dear _brother_ for his kindness?"

Orihime winced at the tight hold and her voice was no louder than a squeak.

"Thank you, _b-brother_."

The look she gave as she locked gaze with her brother and sheikh was brimming with conflicting emotions. One could just as easily read gratitude as another could, sorrow. It spoke of a tenderness that exceeded the boundaries of familial bonds, the melancholy of a young girl's broken heart.

Her reluctance to leave and unspoken longing was evident as Yoruichi led her away.

All this Rukia saw but Ichigo's expression betrayed nothing.

"Kon will assume leadership when he is of age and for now- he and the rest of the Kasumiojis fall within the Kurosaki's protection. The two clans are stronger as one and Kon will be my ward."

Kon faltered for the briefest of the moment, stunned until his mother's touch brought him back. His mother was beside herself with tears of joy running down her face as she thanked the spirits for their intervention, raining down kisses upon her boy's face as they received the news. The boy's eyes burned with newfound resolve and for that Rukia pitied him even more.

She kept silent and lowered her gaze.

"That will be all!"

.

.

Grimmjow was the first to leave. His men trailed after him, glued to his shadows- silent and cautious, afraid to even breathe too loudly lest their antics rouse their taciturn leader from his stupor.

With that as a signal, the crowd dispersed, eagerly recounting amongst themselves what an eventful morning they had. Yoruichi's miraculous comeback had proven yet again that she was on the path of righteousness. The spirits and ancestors in their infinite wisdom watched over their tribe.

Wasn't it lucky that they had Sheikh Ichigo to mete punishments and rewards alike?

Wasn't Orihime lucky- to go from an orphan to becoming a daughter of the Kurosaki clan, the Sheikh's own sister even; overnight?

.

.

As the crowd thinned, Rukia turned towards him.

"She did it for you, you know."

The Intended's smirk was equal parts amusement and annoyance. Did he know of his new _sister's_ aspirations, Rukia wondered; knew what the girl had done and schemed in the name of his affections - maybe encouraged it even?

She was of two minds about the Intended's true nature: was he a player or was he a chess piece? An instigator, a collaborator, or was he something else altogether?

There was still much uncertainty.

Coolly, he told her, "What's another schemer to the pit? The Sheikh _always_ wins."

.

.

.


	10. Formidable Players

.

Orihime clutched the side of her face in disbelief. "I did as you asked!"

Tears gathered in her eyes from pain and humiliation as Yoruichi stared her down.

"No, you _stupid_ girl! The plan was to add the oleander to the _arak._ You acted on your personal vendetta and gave that poisoned drink to your cousin. Because of that you almost endangered the entire plan! You were lucky no one asked questions and the Healer was there to lead them to the right conclusions. What were you going to tell them if they asked for your whereabouts last night? Or how did Rurichiyo get her hands on the poisoned drink and why you weren't affected by it?"

The set of her jaw changed. Poor, _distraught_ Orihime who couldn't even imagine life after the death of her beloved cousin- suddenly straightened her posture; arms by her side, pain forgotten.

"You have no idea what it's like living with her! She deserved this! And _you_ promised!"

Yoruichi sneered. The world sees a girl like Orihime and declares her helpless but a true survivor makes use of all the tools left at her disposal, especially her perceived vulnerability. When it became apparent that there was no audience for her tears and her feigned meekness would earn her no favours, she would learn to shed her skin too.

"Watch your tone, _girl_! I promised you that I would see to it that you are comfortable within the Kurosaki household. I never said that I will have you installed as Ichigo's head wife! Your greed will be the end of you!"

"I am worthy of the position!"

The poor chit fancied herself in love with the boy.

The older woman had neither the heart nor the patience to point out that the infatuation was more driven by her motivation for power and her want for the title of matriarch than flighty emotions. Orihime couldn't even name her motives as what they are- jealousy, hate, a girl's resentment towards her abuser; preferring to hide behind a fantasy that she had done it for love, as if it had made it acceptable somehow.

Yoruichi scoffed. Her unwillingness to face her own ugly emotions aside, how could she hope to answer to the weight of the role if she couldn't even bring herself to face her own darkness?

But these are the things that a woman will never say out loud; she chose to deflect instead.

"You? An orphan with neither gold nor prestige to your name? What can you offer him that he doesn't already possess?"

The spark of defiance raged and flared from Orihime- "You are punishing me for falling in love with a man above my station and daring to actually do something about it? What did Rurichiyo have that I didn't besides the good fortune to be born into a clan like the Kasumiojis?"

Yoruichi narrowed her eyes.

"She had the good sense to hold her tongue and play by _**my**_ rules, you insolent _wench_!"

Orihime flinched from the callousness of her words but Yoruichi was far from done. Clever little schemers who were in over their head needed to be put into their place. As tribe matriarch, she needed to make her point clear, to thoroughly dissuade the girl of any fanciful daydreams she harboured.

The position of matriarch wasn't just a title to be gained after marrying the Sheikh.

"You think you are so clever with your little _schemes_ \- think you've fooled everyone with your feigned helplessness. In time perhaps you will be formidable indeed but for now you are still _weak_ , you live under my dome and your so-called schemes are merely child's play to mine!"

She jerked the girl forward by her hair, ignoring Orihime's high-pitched yelp- "Do not mistake my leniency as kindness- I can and I _will_ crush you if you upset my plans."

Orihime whimpered but a sharp glare from her aunt silenced her.

"Do not overreach and seek what that does not belong to you. Those who stray too close to the Sun will only find themselves burned for their efforts. I will not forget those who have aided me but the man is now your brother."

She tilted the girl's head by her chin.

"I will personally see to it that **nothing** happens between the two of you. The Kurosakis do not need the scandal of incest. The day I hear of such rumour is the day you have outlived your usefulness.

Orihime's lips quivered and in those eyes Yoruichi saw a glimmer of fear. Good- fear was good; fear would make her think twice about prioritizing her personal agenda when there were greater things at play.

Her tone softened, releasing her grip on the girl's hair.

"You are dismissed."

.

.

Rukia saw Orihime as she dashed out. She kept her head down- pretended that she hadn't seen the sharp imprint on the girl's face and her tears. She was a lot of things but she wasn't a hypocrite- couldn't say that she wouldn't have done the same if she was ever put into Orihime's position.

It was a cruel world and they did what they could to survive. She should worry more about her own trials that lay ahead. She hadn't the first clue on how to face Yoruichi, or how their meeting would go.

Yoruichi's smile was benevolent- claws and talons sheathed for now _._ The matriarch seemed to be in good health, making a sound recovery from the poison as colours returned to her cheeks. As always, she was the very picture of languid grace- the perfect hostess as she bade her to sit and drink tea.

Rukia bowed her head low in response. Trepidation lined her thoughts. She made it a point to touch nothing. She knew better than to let her guard down- this woman was dangerous.

"You asked for me, Lady Yo-"

"Please call me Yoruichi. I do owe you my life-" a playful smirk curled on her lips- "I expected you to go running to my nephew once you found the poison and uncovered Kumoi's plot. You surprised me- in a good way, Healer Rukia. Please tell me you haven't regretted your decision. I wouldn't be able to bear it if you turned out to be nothing more than a saint."

Rukia didn't think she had a saintly bone in her- especially not after what she had been participant to. She was a pragmatist- always had been. The mission was the most important thing- the only thing that mattered and for that, she was willing to do anything.

As for saving Yoruichi's life, they both knew that wasn't true.

There was no poisoning- merely a political ruse. The woman didn't need saving- not when she was the mastermind of the whole incident.

Rukia too would have been caught up in the scheme, dancing to the tune of Yoruichi's machinations- blissfully ignorant if it hadn't been for a serendipitous cup of coffee.

.

.

_Defeat tasted bitter in her mouth._

_She had mulled over the ultimatum offered by Kumoi and could feel her disgust growing; but this was the only way she could think of- she had to tell Ichigo the truth. He may not believe her, might even have her in chains but she couldn't bring herself to poison her patient. It went against everything she was taught to do._

_With her mind made, she headed towards Yoruichi's bayt. She had to say goodbye to her patient and the Kurosaki twins first._

_Inside, Yoruichi was still unconscious. The girls flashed a slight smile at her. They were holding the nightly vigil over their aunt in the hopes that she would wake up some time during the night._

_Rukia's heart felt heavy but they had to hear it from her. She failed them. She deserved nothing less than their disgust and disappointment._

_She made her way in, steeling her heart as her feet marched themselves onward._

_Everything had been left as it was. Her stomach growled as she realized that she hadn't eaten anything since morning. She eyed the laden feast. The food would have gone bad under the heat._

_But maybe she could still get something to drink—_

_._

**We drank coffee and chatted about the preparation underway for my upcoming nameday celebration.**

_._

_Rukia's eyes widened and she stopped dead in her tracks. Hysterical laughter bubbled._

_She had been so blind!_

_She was wrong- wrong in the assumptions that she had made, wrong in believing that the plan that Kumoi had concocted was fool-proof. Rurichiyo wasn't lying. Yoruichi drank coffee!_

_The poison wasn't in the food. It was in the coffee!_

_She grabbed at the used cup still half full with the cold bitter liquid –_

_And drank it._

_._

" _Healer Rukia!"_

_The twins scrambled to their feet in alarm. What was the healer doing drinking stale coffee? That was important evidence- the woman had even said so herself. If she really wanted to, they could always brew a fresh batch for her!_

_Rukia spat it back out._

_Nutmeg!_

_The drink was more liquid nutmeg than coffee._

_Yoruichi wasn't poisoned with oleander. That was why the symptoms didn't add up. Oleander would have killed her from the inside out- rotting her internal organs first but nutmeg wouldn't. Nutmeg wasn't intended to kill but given in a higher dose, it could replicate the symptoms of acute poisoning, make it seem as it death was imminent for its victim with the scary hallucinations and palpitations._

_There was definitely more to the story- things that she didn't know._

" _Has your aunt always had coffee this way? With the nutmeg added."_

_Karin shook her head._

" _The spice was something we discovered during trading with foreign seafarers. It would be a good three moons ago since she started drinking coffee with it. She said it made the taste interesting."_

_Three moons was more than enough time to devise a plan- to find out the best dose to produce the intended symptoms, the most potent side effects and how to avoid them, and more importantly work out an antidote._

" _Who was the one who made her the coffee?"_

" _Orihime. Aunt Yoruichi said that she has the most unique ta—"_

_Rukia didn't have the time to listen to the end of the sentence. Her mind was already racing as her feet carried her over to Rurichiyo's bayt. With a clamp over the girl's mouth, she practically dragged Orihime out through sheer force alone._

_The girl's fear over what she would have assumed to be a demoness was damning but Rukia shrugged it off. She could always earn her forgiveness later. Right now human lives hung in the balance. She didn't have the time to play nice._

" _Tell me everything you know."_

_._

_._

Truly, Rukia applauded the matriarch for her efforts. The woman laid her trap well- the hunted was the huntress. The poisoning was designed to serve Yoruichi's purpose in three-folds. And it was an overwhelming success on all fronts.

The first to weed out the hidden threat lurking within their own faction and effectively neutralize it, the second- to solidify her own position within the clan hierarchy; Kasumioji's successor was now completely dependent on the Kurosakis, and the third, to test the new healer- to force her to pick a side and make a stand.

Rukia pursed her lips.

"I did what I had to do. No matter who I turned to, we both know what that would make me. The only difference is whether I am a useful pawn or a disposable one. I won't be made into anyone's pawn."

She would have been at the Intended's mercy had she gone to him and that would not help in her attempts to prevent the _sweven_. Had she actually gone through with Kumoi's demands though, that would have made her situation worse- it made her an accomplice, an enemy of Yoruichi and the Intended. Even if she ran, she had little doubt that retribution would have been swift. Kumoi would strike her down to keep his secret at all cost.

"Such bold words–'' Yoruichi smiled –"nonetheless, you have my thanks. It would have been much harder to pin it on Yammy without your help."

Rukia digressed. It was a plan set out to work in four-folds.

She forgot that in taking out Kumoi Yoruichi also removed Yammy, a clear supporter of the opposition. With one broad careless sweep of his blade, Grimmjow was cutting off his own nose to spite his face- severing his own claws and cutting down his allies.

Taking the claws away from a wolf was as good as limping the beast.

Rukia gulped. Yoruichi was three steps ahead of everyone in the game.

She played everyone: using Orihime as a turncoat, her nieces as witnesses, manipulating Rukia- the only true neutral party in the tribe, turning Grimmjow's anger against him and bending them all to suit her purpose.

"Lady Y-"

"Yoruichi," topaz eyes gleamed, "I insist."

A beat, a staring match that Yoruichi won when Rukia sighed.

"Yoruichi, if I hadn't given you the oleander leaves, how else were you going to obtain the antidote?"

Yoruichi smiled, "A true artist will never put all her cards on the table- to do so would be stupid. But rest assured I would still get the results I want. The ending is still going to be the same."

Ichigo was definitely his aunt's prodigy- even their words echoed with the same brand of arrogance.

"I don't doubt it."

The woman was a superb tactician- a rare blend of cool meticulous planning and risk-taking. She had set everything out perfectly from the counter-poison, right down to the number of leaves needed to counteract the poison of her own choosing. A lesser woman would have hesitated over the decision of poisoning herself, entertained second thoughts when unwarranted factors like Rukia's arrival to the tribe came into play.

But Yoruichi wasn't fazed by the changes- she simply made use of the same plan to accomplish more.

.

"Did the Sheikh know? Did he know about Kumoi's plot from the very beginning?"

Yoruichi quirked an eyebrow at her questions, watching her oddly defensive stance amusedly.

"Why does it matter to you? Why are you so interested in knowing what my nephew knows? I don't deny that he has his charms but I never thought that you would be so forward and bold in your approach," teased Yoruichi.

Rukia's cheeks coloured. The day she harboured any interests beyond professional and her oath to her Goddess, towards that manipulative man was the day that pigs would fly. But she bit her tongue- she knew when to pick her battles.

Yoruichi would tell her nothing and she should cut her losses before she let something else slip and earn the suspicions of the sharp-eyed woman.

"It seems that I am in the presence of formidable players," she said instead.

"The very best, I'm afraid," cooed Yoruichi.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia:
> 
> Nutmeg poisoning is very real due to the anticholinergic properties of its main ingredient- mycristicin (which is metabolized by the human body to MMDA and a weak MAOI) hence the hallucinogenic effects. Poison onset is quick but varies. The earliest known case is reported as far back as 1887 and both intentional and unintentional exposure cases continue to be reported in the 2000s to 2010s.
> 
> I have the references available. Poison interests me- I mean it in a non-creepy way. Comment if you want to go in depth about the poisoning. The pharmacist in me is very intrigued.
> 
> Aside from that, IR week starts tomorrow! Are you excited? 😎😎😎  
> Please see [prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesesols/collections) here and we look forward to seeing your participation!


	11. Divided

.

Ichigo dreamed about it sometimes- the day he almost died.

In those dreams, he's always his nine-year old self- small for his age but a fast runner. Cloudless skies, scorching heat- the hottest he could ever remember. The attack came unprovoked and bodies were dropping to the ground- dead before they could even draw their blades to arm themselves.

Screaming- there was a lot of screaming, from the dead, from the survivors, from the horses. Chaos was everywhere and everything and the heat gave way to actual flames that devoured all in their path. The smoke and smell- of war, trampled bodies left in the aftermath of carnage and decay- choked him.

Death came to him in a form of a man- a demon in disguise with his terrible horns and even deadlier sword cutting down men and beasts alike as though they were stalks of wild grass and he, the scythe. He had sent many of his brethren back to the arms of their ancestors and now the hooves of his hell mount were coming for him.

.

_Run, run, run!_

_._

Instincts told him to flee but his nimble feet grew roots. Fear took hold of him and a shell-shocked child like him was easy picking on the battleground littered with bodies of old and young alike.

Warm blood coated his face. He brought his hand up to it, swiped a finger to see the vibrant shade up close and personal. Do all men bleed the same shade of red, he wondered. His vision cleared for the briefest of a moment before the metallic smell assailed him and after that, the horror that followed the realization that it was his mother's.

His mother had tried in vain to pull him out of harm's way and in desperation, flung herself between him and his attacker.

Fortified iron sliced through her.

.

A scream echoed- he can't be sure if it was his own or his mother's as her lifeless husk fell backwards, trapping him underneath. Even in her death, she protected him and he was powerless to change anything- too weak even to shift the heavy load off his body.

His mother's body pinned him down and his world was a vision of blue- the colour of the sky. How strange it was that the sky would remain so peaceful and tranquil when the world beneath was a bleeding mass of red.

He heard the sound of a blade being drawn all the same.

The man dismounted. Footsteps loomed closer until quite suddenly Ichigo saw him- death personified, twin horns jutting from his helmet as he stared down at him, pale as the moon with his green eyes vacant, disinterested, black lines marking the tears that he will not shed. The kill was impersonal to the man but Ichigo's eyes were wide open- glassy, horrified.

How did it feel- to be the taker of lives so many that one became numb to it?

His lips moved to form words but no sound came out and his would-be killer would not be swayed by the emotions of a child, struggling to be let to live.

The sword plunged into him, straight through his mother's body.

.

.

.

He woke up, drenched in cold sweat- chest heaving, eyes wild. He pressed a hand to his abdomen- his scar was throbbing. Old wounds, especially the ones that made the difference between life and death, never heal quite the way that they should.

"Are you awake?"

His aunt's voice grounded him. That was just a dream- the memories of a boy half-scared to death. Things were different now. If he ever met the man again, demon or not- Ichigo swore that he would redeem himself and avenge his parents.

"I am now," he told her as he sat upright. He ignored the ache, shifting his gaze to the unannounced visitor in his tent. He let out a weary sigh. She'd been waiting to give him an earful; her displeasure a build up from the weeks before so they might as well have it.

"Let's hear it then."

"I am not happy with your decision. Kisuke said as much. You are leaving too many loose ends. I have seen enough of them to know that it will come back to haunt you in time."

"Yet it is already done. The Sheikh always wins."

Yoruichi frowned. It was one thing to be confident, quite another to be overly optimistic and blind to the danger, "Yes but only for as long as he is the Sheikh. An overthrown ruler is no better than a horse. Now is not the time for magnanimity. Your kindness will send you to an early grave!"

"And you will be there to make sure that it doesn't happen," he replied coolly.

Ichigo didn't fear death. Not when the mark on his stomach so starkly reminded him that he should have been dead all those seasons ago. The cut was deep but the killer missed. Ichigo was inclined to believe that the mistake was due to his killer's unfamiliarity with the anatomy of a child than an innate sense of compassion.

It was a miracle that they found him- barely clinging on to life and delirious from the blood loss after they managed to drive off the attackers. With a hare-brained scheme that reeked of his uncle's brand of mad genius and recklessness his body was stitched together and made to hold with threads and when the skin took too long to mend with the fear of gangrene setting in, the man took a torch and held it against the wound.

"This is _exactly_ the sort of mentality that will get you killed," Yoruichi grumbled, "Stop being reckless. Who's going to watch over the twins if you die?"

"If I die, watch over Karin and Yuzu for me, send the bastard who did the deed after me and we'll call it even. You can even take the title of Sheikh for yourself if you want to."

Yoruichi scowled. "Watch over them yourself. The men will stage a mutiny at the thought of a woman as Sheikh."

"Yet I have no doubt that you would bring them to their knees anyway."

She brushed off his suggestion flippantly. "It would be as Kisuke says. The position comes with more hassle than its worth, much easier to manipulate things from behind the shadows with you as a figurehead."

Ichigo deadpanned, "I am ever so honoured to be of use. Speaking of ill-conceived plans why did you have me take in Orihime? She almost ruined everything."

His aunt rolled her eyes. "The girl has her uses still. You and I both know there needs to be a reconciliation of sorts between you and Grimmjow soon. I imagine with this recent fallout- the other clans will be waiting for further signs of weakness from us. We must not give them that satisfaction."

Topaz eyes gleamed, "I against my brother, my brothers and I against my cousins, then my cousins and I against strangers. Regardless of our differences, the Kurosaki clan must appear strong and united to the tribe lest the other clans start getting ideas, thinking that they can replace us. You know what needs to be done."

Ichigo grimaced.

A cousin marriage- that sort of union was still very much encouraged in their society to strengthen and protect the minimal lineage. And as leader, it was expected him to lead by example- to follow tradition and preserve the bloodline, to mend the family rift so to speak, presumably by marrying one of his sisters to his cousin.

"Over my dead body!"

He would rather die. Marriage to that mad man was not a fate he would wish on either of the twins. The bastard might abuse or neglect them in some perverted notion of justification!

" _Precisely_ \- by making the girl your sister, she becomes another candidate. A much better candidate if I may," the smile Yoruichi offered him spoke of a ruthlessness that he could never hope to achieve, "better her than one of the twins."

Ichigo looked away. He could not fault Yoruichi for that. Their pact was made specifically for that purpose. The strong protects the weak and blood takes care of blood. He swore that he would do anything for them.

He owed them that much at least. They had already lost so much because of him. He and Yoruichi would gladly take up the sword, cut through everyone and everything standing in their path. He would bury his conscience so deep that it would never be found; if it meant that the twins would never have to feel blood on their hands.

"The Healer has been asking questions about you. There is much more to her than what she lets on. Even if she is not a threat now, her presence is an ill omen. Get rid of her."

His hesitation echoed in his lack of response.

His aunt sighed.

"You swore that you would do anything to keep your sisters safe. Prove to me now that you haven't forgotten that oath."

His inhale was sharp. "I haven't but she stays."

The colour of her exotic eyes thrilled him, the things that she said, the choices she made- this healer woman was a mystery and he had just barely skimmed the surface of what she was. He couldn't let her go before he had his answers.

"I agree."

His body tensed, fingers bracing for the hilt of his sword before he realized that it was only Karin. Her dark eyes met his, nodding briefly as a greeting.

"Oh my little black bird," said Yoruichi, "don't sneak up on us like that! How much of the conversation had you overheard?"

"Enough," said Karin cryptically as she ducked into the _bayt,_ seating herself carelessly next to the older woman who eyed her dust-covered attire and wind-swept hair with a grimace.

"What will your future husband do when he learns of his wife's habits? All those bruises and mysterious injuries," she tutted, "Just look at the state of your clothes- it's like you spent an entire day rolling in the sand!"

Karin scowled fiercely. "If the fool values his life, he will learn not to speak of it."

Ichigo rolled his eyes at her.

Far be it from him to curb Karin's passion but her penchant of climbing trees and horse-racing had a tendency of leaving her bruised and injured. That- he cannot abide by. Really their aunt should consider giving _her_ a lecture about recklessness instead.

Karin's unconventional habits and almost brusque manner had isolated her from girls her age and most boys had enough sense to steer clear from the beloved sister of an overprotective sheikh; those who didn't have the unhealthy tendency to draw out her competitiveness, her determination to one-up the rest of them to prove that her sex didn't make her any less capable. The same qualities that made her an undesirable bride would have easily made her the favourite son of the household had she been born with a different set of genitals.

Yoruichi sighed good-humouredly- as accommodating as always when it came to the girls, especially Karin.

"Why should we let the girl stay?"

"She is kind-" the girl held out her palms, bandaged with the dark green poultice showing at the edges –"she treated me when I cut my hands from the leather reins earlier. And I was there when you were 'poisoned'. I saw how worried she was, how much trouble she went through to save you. She's smart and she helped us; that means something- surely."

Yoruichi didn't look impressed- not by the slightest.

"These are the arguments that I would have expected Yuzu to come up with, Karin- not you. Even your brother knows better. Her allegiance is a mystery and her kindness can cut us just as easily as it can help us. Maybe not today but in the future- who's to say. As long as we know nothing of her past and her agenda, she will remain a double-edged sword to us."

Ichigo tried his luck.

"Is she so adept that even you couldn't see her attacks coming?"

Yoruichi laughed. "Your attempt at subterfuge is commendable but I remain unconvinced."

"Give her a chance," pleaded Karin, throwing a glare at her brother's direction, "you've said it yourself she could be useful."

Ichigo caught on. "If you can find a use for a girl like Orihime, then surely you would be able to find a use for her. _Nothing_ fazes a brilliant woman like you."

"Flattery will get you anywhere, Ichigo but not today and not with the heavy, liberal way that you layer it on with. Finesse is the key here. And the answer is still no."

"But what if I can prove her loy- no- what if I can sway her to our side permanently? If it's her past and the lack of information that bothers you then I'll just find it out for you."

She snorted; spoken in true Ichigo fashion- "The girl refuses to be used. I know her kind. You'll have a hard time persuading her to do anything she doesn't want to. And she's smart- a girl like that is hard to control. She could upset a lot of things."

"That's not a 'no' though."

Yoruichi narrowed her eyes. She was beginning to see a pattern. Her nephew had a thing about picking up strays but never with a persistence that rivalled on annoying.

"Why are you so adamant on her staying?"

He shrugged. "She's interesting."

His reply was short and meant to convey his disinterest but a woman like her read between the lines; knew what the nervous fingers at the nape of his neck meant when he wasn't meeting her gaze. Her lips curled. Maybe it will do him some good to learn that things will not always go his way even if he were Sheikh, especially when there was a girl involved.

There were some life lessons that could not be skipped.

She would be there to make sure that the infatuation didn't consume him and hopefully make him a better liar in time. The boy was so hopelessly transparent.

.

"Fine! But don't come crying to me when she refuses to be swayed," she warned, "I told you that she will not be won over easily."

His eyes brightened, burning golden as he shared a look with his sister who likewise, beamed.

Yoruichi shook her head in fond amusement. Out of the three siblings, Yuzu was the only one who didn't give her a headache. Her two older siblings were a handful and the source of all her grey hair.

"Now go and dress yourself, Karin," her tone was one that brooked no arguments as she caught the girl by the wrist, "I insist you change into a proper dress before the ceremony."

Karin's shoulders slumped, pouting almost as she whined, "What's wrong with what I have on right now?"

"If you have time to whine about it then you have the time to do something about your hair as well. Now go!"

Yoruichi practically shoved Karin out of the tent, and when it became apparent that the young girl had no intention of being quick about it, started dragging her along.

"We mustn't be late. It's not every day that you gain a new sister."

With his aunt and sister gone, Ichigo busied himself with his morning rituals. Today was the day of the ceremony to officiate Orihime, formerly of the clan Kasumioji into his family and clan. He was formally adopting her as his new sister.

It was imperative that he was presentable for the occasion to act in both his capacity as the head of the family and in his role as Sheikh or he would never hear the end of it from his aunt.

He was halfway through shaving when the pain started again. He winced at the dull ache. As his fingers pressed down on the old wound, something sprang to mind- a feeling, a premonition of sorts.

The man who marked him was coming his way.

Hate readily ignited at the thought. The man robbed him of his parents, his childhood and his innocence and for that; Ichigo would not hesitate in returning the favour.

His fist clenched. A determined scowl set on his face as he stared at his own reflection in the wash basin- blood blossoming with flourish from the accidental cut on his face.

He won't miss.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To think that IR week has been and gone 😭😭😭.
> 
> I hope that everyone enjoyed it! If you haven't already, please check out Tumblr with #irweek2020. We also have a collection under Ichiruki week.


	12. Tidings of War

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Something cold was pressed into her hands.

The blade felt heavy - her fingers clumsy and shaking as she made the prick on her finger. Her exhale was sharp but the cut yielded.

A single drop of red fell into the bowl- joining those of her siblings. A lock of her hair was snipped, thrown into the mixture as words of the ritual were chanted reverently, calling for divine guidance and blessing, and above all, kinship.

Hair and blood- flesh and bones once known to another; fire to meld them all together.

With the deaths of those she once called family, the orphaned ward of Kasumioji was released from her bonds- fatherless and destitute, a true wanderer forsaken by all. Yet by the offerings and the protection of the ritual, she was bonded and forged anew to assume her true form.

She smelled the smoke and stilled herself. The ashes of the burnt concoction were smeared across her forehead, and the mark anointed with scented oils.

Her chest felt so tight that she could hardly breathe. Time was agonizingly slow as she waited for the ritual to take hold.

The chanting ceased.

"The ancestors have accepted you as one of our own! It is done!"

Her eyes opened to feel the sun on her face. Grey eyes held the gaze of her new sisters as she gave into the warmth of their embrace. Yoruichi's smile was fierce and bright; and the sight made her stand up straighter, smile harder in response. Ichigo stood somewhere further away- far enough that she couldn't see him but her heart felt his presence.

The ancestors have spoken and deemed her worthy.

Fingers traced the golden stitching at the trimmings of her dress, the multi-coloured inlays hand-sewn into the fabric. She was truly free- free to live, to be and to have. No more pointed side glances or whispers about her misfortune when they think she wasn't looking.

Orihime- the sister of a sheikh and bonded to the main family of the Kurosaki clan- she answered their call with a declaration of her own. Her love seared, marked and burned true; in time, he will see her flame.

The brightness of the sun was hard on her eyes but she smiled nonetheless, breathing-

This was only her beginning.

.

.

.

Night had fallen and the celebration was in full swing by the time Rukia joined the party.

Food was given freely and she accepted it with thanks. Someone pressed a drink to her hands and with that drink in hand, she was free to wander and mingle, though sticking to the shadows was more of a force of habit by now; casually observing the antics of the tribesmen in between the tentative sips.

At the center of the merriment and blushing drunks, she spied the happy family. Orihime, the latest addition to the Kurosaki family and the star of the celebration- was a cheery vision of rosy cheeks and carefree laughter, surrounded by well-wishers and her new sisters as she simpered and chattered.

The grand matriarch herself seemed to be embroiled in a discussion of sorts with several elders- older men who seemed deferral to her. Despite the constant cacophony of people trying to talk over each other, Rukia had slinked close enough to the group to overhear the words 'spices' and 'weather' mentioned repeatedly. She wondered if that meant that the tribe was due to move soon- continuing on their usual trade route to reach the ports before the season's end.

That left only the Intended unaccounted for.

.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Her eyes narrowed. Being caught off guard was a humiliating thought for an accomplished swordsman like herself.

"Do you enjoy sneaking up on people, my sheikh?"

His smirk was infuriating. "That depends. Do you enjoy eavesdropping on conversations, Healer?"

Rukia huffed. She should have known better. Talking to him was draining.

She made an excuse of seeing Nanao and Nemu amongst the crowd and excused herself from the Sheikh's presence, but the man was insufferable to a fault. Physically trailing after her to make sure that he was never more than five steps away, his eyes were watching her, marking her every move- much like how she had been in her quiet observant ways but louder in his intent.

The weight of his gaze felt heavy and his stare prompted others to notice her presence.

She didn't like it. Shadow-working was pointless in this state.

"Stop following me!" she snapped.

The crowd and their din of merriment dimmed. There was enough distance between the two of them and the source of celebration that she wasn't worried about being overheard or chided for her lack of reverence to her leader.

"I just happen to be going the same way."

Rukia snorted. His lies were terrible. He could learn a thing or two from his aunt and she told him as much.

His response to that was merely a shrug and said, "Your cup is almost empty. Let me get you another one."

He all but snatched the goblet away. Her hands shot out of their own accord to grab at the base, grappling with him for control as she gritted.

"I am not a heavy drinker by nature."

"We'll just get you some coffee then. You've earned it. We owe you a great deal for saving my aunt and solving the murders."

His words angered her. Lady Shirayuki would be most disappointed with her naiveté, the way she was played like a puppet on a string by the Intended. She was supposed to be smarter than this- smart enough to stop whatever the Intended planned to set into motion.

The man in question currently stood to her front, blocking her escape. He was trying to herd her back to the celebration and she was not amused to say the least. She dug her heels in.

"I have only done what my duty entails me to."

Something playful seeped into his eyes- making them more golden than brown and Rukia backed away from him, purely out of loosened her hold, and frowned as she realized that the cup was now firmly in his possession.

It was annoying. The way he was holding the cup high, keeping it just out of her reach- lording his victory over her for something as simple as the possession of a cup made her scoff.

_Fine!_

She thought; he can have the stupid thing! She was leaving anyway.

She half-turned, eager to put some distance between them but he had reached out with his other hand and with a slight tug, pulled her back into his orbit. His hand was large compared to hers; easily wrapping itself around her wrist and firm enough that she couldn't shake it off.

She glared at him. The lazy smirk he shot back in retaliation was insolent as though the feat of securing an empty cup in his hand and her wrist in the other was some legendary conquest and she had the strongest urge to hurt him. Her duties as a Guardian didn't mean that he was allowed to get away with his blatant disregard for social manners.

Her eyebrow twitched.

"Unhand me **right now**."

"Come back to the celebration with me."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "Why?"

He shrugged; mischief evident when he countered, "There's food, _arak;_ music playing, people dancing. Why _wouldn't_ you want to go back to the celebration?"

Rukia huffed, made to lean in close when he took a step towards her. The tip of her nose almost brushed against his naked chest and his scent was a surprising combination of leather and smoke- masculine, raw, heady. He smelled like danger- like the faint echo of magic coursing through her veins, all that power sitting right at the tip of her fingers- and her body reacted accordingly, craving for more and fighting against the implications, all in the same breath.

She tried to ignore the warmth of his touch, the tap of his fingers on her pulse.

"That's a question. Not an answer."

His eyes darkened, voice husky. "How's this then? Come with me so I can ask you to d-"

The Sheikh suddenly stiffened. All traces of playful humour gone in the instant as his eyes hardened. His gaze shifted to a distant somewhere, focused on an object that was just far enough from her line of vision that she couldn't see without squinting.

She turned. In the darkness and amidst the flying clouds of sand and dust, she could just barely make out the outline of a rider on a pale horse, speeding towards them with no signs of stopping.

"Get behind me," he ordered, as he drew his blade and readied his stance.

The sudden change in behaviour was jarring but Rukia understood the urgency of the situation.

A part of her balked at the thought of taking orders from him, empty hands longing for a blade of her own but her lack of weapon meant that she had little to no say on the matter itself when the Sheikh made her stand behind him. This was the second time this had happened and she was getting quite sick of being defenceless.

Hearts thundered in tandem to the beat of hooves against sand as the mysterious rider loomed closer.

Man and horse came to a sudden halt as the distance between them shortened to a mere twenty human paces. The dust settled and the hooded rider dismounted.

The Intended stood unmoving as the grip on his blade tightened.

"Show yourself!"

The rider stepped into the light and pushed his hood back, making himself known.

Ichigo's sword arm lowered and sheathed the blade. He went to the stranger, embracing him as a true brother.

"Ishida!"

.

.

.

The first order of business was naturally to feed the newcomer. It was the way of the desert people and hospitality was a duty placed above all else.

Between the first dish of meat and the second round of coffee, they introduced the stranger as Uryuu, a son from the illustrious Ishida clan and the Sheikh's cousin on his mother's side.

Rukia could not picture him as a member of a wandering nomad tribe.

Family resemblance must be a strange and fickle thing. Much like how she had trouble picturing the Kurosaki twins and Ichigo as siblings; Rukia found the idea of a blood relation between the Sheikh and his cousin to be just as farfetched. Seated next to the Sheikh, Uryuu looked to be a quiet, scholarly man. He didn't look as though he had spent a day under the sun, much less last a full day of riding across the desert lands. Here was a man she would have thought to belong amongst books and scrolls, cloistered behind city walls and other comforts of a city life.

Nonetheless, the Sheikh had embraced him and called him by name. He was a guest, practically family even- and treated as such. The tribe offered him the first cut of the meat and kept his cup full throughout the evening.

But the joviality seemed strangely forced. That night there was no tales of glory nor were there songs woven of the stars and the moon; the hum was mellow and after the children had fallen asleep, came the deep, lulling ballads of heroes cut down before their time.

Rukia's glance flitted to Nanao. Her hands were shaking and she had seemed strangely unsettled since the Ishida scion came to dine with them. There was something haunted in her eyes. Between them was a sleeping Nemu who had nodded off like most children as the men broke into songs.

"Do you know him?" asked Rukia.

Nanao nodded tersely, a gulp of her drink as she answered. "Yes, a long time ago. Those were… unsettling times."

Rukia chanced a glance at the main table where their guest of honour was seated- in between their sheikh and the latter's aunt. That same muted air didn't seem to affect them as they regarded each other warmly with broad smiles. If anything she thought it made the Intended look livelier, the way his roguish grin came to meet his ey-

"Why are you here?"

The music came to an abrupt end as the tribesmen's movements halted. The festivities had stopped on account of one man's voice and Uryuu looked at once ill-at-ease and embarrassed by the attention.

Her train of thought disrupted, Rukia's eyes snapped over to the speaker.

The glare Ichigo directed towards him was sharp enough to wound and bury.

"You're drunk, Grimmjow," the Intended's voice was deceptively smooth- his anger carefully controlled as he sought to salvage the situation without causing further disruption, "I think that's enough for tonight."

Grimmjow shrugged.

"You know you're dying to know, Cousin. The only difference between us is the fact that you're not man enough to voice them out loud. I say fuck that-" he took a gulp of his alcohol, ignoring the horrified looks from the tribesmen- "I **demand** to know what you're doing here, Ishida! We still remember what happened all those years ago, the death of our fathers and brothers in arm. How dare you show your face here!"

"That is enough!"

Ichigo's admonishment came harshly and soundly.

"Leave now, Grimmjow before you say something you'll regret in the morning. Uryuu is not to be blamed for the attack. His loss cuts just as deeply as ours do."

Grimmjow's rage seethed and glowered, making the tribesmen nervous. His ensuing rant was half parts the musings of a drunkard and the other, of a haunted man.

He spat.

"Our fathers were fools to take him in. We should have just left him- should have just left him to burn. Spirits take him and the rest of his forsaken clan! We should have never stepped in between fate. We picked the wrong side- fools with a death wish to go against a tribe like the Espadas. Le-"

Ichigo slammed his fist against the table. Cold fire burned in his eyes and the grit in his voice was unmistakable.

"Leave now or I will remove you from this clan. Permanently."

The threat of expulsion was sobering enough. Scowling, Grimmjow picked himself up and left, flanked by his followers on both sides.

Yet, the damage was done. The party and celebration had come to an early end as many of the tribesmen begged leave, retiring for the night after the intense ordeal.

"He's not wrong," said Uryuu with a sombre tone, "my clan cost you many lives. If the tribe hadn't answered our cry for help then the Espadas wouldn't have set their sights on you. Those men wouldn't have to die. You would still have your parents, Cousin."

Ichigo snorted.

"Grimmjow's an idiot. Ignore him. We may have lost people to the Espadas- good, honourable people like my parents; but you lost everything. If anything, my loss pales in comparison to yours."

"Ichigo is right. It is pointless to compare losses," said Yoruichi as she pushed the platter of meat towards her nephews- by blood and by marriage, "Less talking and more eating, especially you, Uryuu. You are too thin."

"That's to make sure the wild animals won't come for me. All bones and no meat won't make a good meal. Even a desert mouse will make a better meal than me."

His joke went unappreciated as Yoruichi simply ignored it to ply more meat on his plate.

"Don't joke about such things. It's not the wild animals you should be worried about. The Espadas never forget a slight and they could be anywhere. The Horned Man will make quick work of you."

Uryuu frowned, decidedly confused.

"The Horned Man? _Oh_ you mea-"

Yoruichi's eyes widened in alarm, quickly stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth and stopping him mid-sentence. What a fool the boy was to invite such misfortune!

"Do not speak of his name!" she hissed. Names have power. For the same reason why Karin was her little black bird but never the ill-omened crow, the tribesmen make it a point to avoid using his name. To invoke that unholy one's name was a sure-fire way of courting death and other calamities.

She glared. "Have your years inside those hideous buildings of stone rot away your brain?"

The scholar apologized in earnest but Yoruichi's frown was deep and prominent.

She sighed. "I've made a terrible mistake. I should never have let you go. The Ishida bloodline ends with you and you've already lost your common sense, forgotten your pride as a wanderer- gone and filled your head with all those silly ideas of people living in rooted houses instead and the chicken scratches they are so fond of using."

Urahara pulled her away and set her with a drink in hand. His tone pleasantly exasperated.

"Dearest, you are over-reacting. Now sit and let the boy eat in peace."

Uryuu stared at the pair with wry amusement. He had almost forgotten how nice it felt to be fussed about and looked after. It felt good to be home again.

"You're always welcomed here, you know. Between the two of us, I'd pick you over Grimmjow any day," said Ichigo as he refilled his drink.

Uryuu's reply was almost teasing, "Be careful what you wish for. If I stay, you might find yourself favourless and title-less. Aunt Yoruichi has always liked me better."

Ichigo scoffed. "You can have her. All she does is nag anyway."

He neatly dodged the piece of fruit that his aunt threw at him. His sisters giggled and Yoruichi's glare was sharp but Ichigo was unperturbed as he continued, "Besides, we both know it's Karin that's her favourite. My position as Sheikh is safe- for now. Won't you consider staying for good?"

Uryuu said nothing. Ichigo understood his silence.

Survivor's guilt made Uryuu restless and his wanderlust took him to many strange places and a visitor to even stranger sights; drove him to abandon their nomadic roots to seek solace in the world behind walls and learn of their ways, but even that wasn't enough. All the knowledge and riches known to mankind wouldn't be enough for a haunted soul.

Ichigo sighed. It was time to change the subject.

"So, what have you learned then on your travels? Met the moon and learned her secrets yet?"

Uryuu laughed. "Nothing as grand as that but I have seen wonderful things nonetheless- inventions that make the night sky bloom with colour and ways of killing a man without sinking a blade between his ribs. But that's not why I am here."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow and Uryuu's steely gaze met his.

"The Espadas are coming. The trail of burning cities they leave in their wake mark their path. **He** is coming."

The Sheikh could feel his fingers shaking. The throbbing of his scar flared like a warning- his mother's protection, the wrath of his ancestors and kinsmen; his prayers have been answered and now it was the time to act.

"You have a plan in place, I assume."

Uryuu's nod was curt.

"The Vizards have agreed. With your permission, I ride eastward the next dawn for the Shinigamis."

The shark-toothed grin that Ichigo shot him was unabashedly feral. It was a look that Uryuu found himself mirroring. The thrum of anticipation and the hunger for revenge shied just beneath their skin- years of shame and the burden of their guilt finally coming to an end.

The two brothers in all but blood shared a look.

The Espadas may be a monolith- untouchable in their prowess but their sins will not go unpunished. Men- tribes of different tongues, allegiances and beliefs find themselves united in their loss, brought together by fate to finish the work of their forefathers.

Vengeance would be theirs.

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.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens. I hope you all enjoyed the IR interaction. Slow burn for a reason but we'll get there.


	13. Winds of Change

**.**

Her new cousin was strange.

Strange in the way that horses were strange to men and men were strange to birds and his years away from the tribe had only made him stranger, disconnected from the rest of them.

Orihime had vague memories of a boy who left the tribe with the blessings of the old sheikh to find his place in the world just as she was getting assimilated into the Kasumioji household; but this man standing before her- bare from the waist up, criss-cross of scars dotting his back- was all too sinewy and pale to be the same boy that she remembered.

She averted her gaze.

"Your clothes, Cousin."

He jumped at the sound of her voice. Eying the neat fold of clothes she held in her arms, he mumbled his thanks and wasted no time in shrugging on the tunic. It was Ichigo's- dyed green at first but the colour had since faded with use. The sleeves were longer than expected, somewhat broader at the shoulders but otherwise a good fit.

A distinct frown was on his face as he regarded the excess length.

"She really didn't have to do this," he grumbled, rolling up the arm sleeves to a respectable length and Orihime fought the urge to laugh.

His arrival drew out a side of Yoruichi that she had never thought possible. The woman was smothering in her maternal instincts to clothe and feed. Despite the urgency of his mission, Yoruichi had made him stay longer, made him pack extra provisions for the journey ahead, and insisted that his worn-out clothing be replaced with some of Ichigo's old clothes or the Shinigamis would never believe that he was an envoy sent by the tribe.

It was a difficult logic to argue against.

"I could alter it for you if you don't mind."

The words left her mouth in a hurry. She wanted so badly to be useful for Ichigo's sake. This was the first time she felt that she was in a position to do so.

"How kind of you to offer, Cousin. But leave that to me."

His reply was not what she had expected. What he did next was even more so- from the depth of his satchels, he plucked out needle and threads and set about sewing the garment by the faint light of sunrise. He threaded the needle with expert ease and completed the modifications in record timing.

"You sew very well."

She was in awe. One would be hard-pressed to find such skills even among the talented seamstresses within the tribe. A man who could sew and do it well- who had ever heard of such a strange thing?

Tracing her finger along the neat seamlines, her voice was soft but sincere when she told him, "Your mother must be glad to know that you will never wander about unclothed in the desert."

He blinked owlishly at her and for a moment, she was worried that she had offended him.

She fumbled, hands motioning awkwardly as she apologized.

"I should have worded it differently," she bowed, biting her lips, "I didn't mean to offend you or disrespect your mother."

Kurosaki skin was thick and their wits sharp; hers felt like a paper-thin imitation of both. In her eagerness to help, she had merely embarrassed herself further. Her clumsy tongue and inept social graces had gotten her into plenty of trouble in the past with Rurichiyo. Now they served as a reminder of her awkwardness.

She was a Kurosaki now- full-blooded and afforded the same respect as her sisters as far as anyone was concerned but the feel of her new skin was wrong- stretched a little too tight across her chest, brittle to the touch and easily poked through. Stare at it hard enough and she was afraid that people would see right through her and know.

A gazelle has no business to stand among eagles.

Her new family name and all the promises of being forged anew rang hollow. Deep down underneath she still felt the same, the same Orihime with her cast-off rags and hand-me-downs, still left behind, still the same unwanted daughter.

Her gaze as she glanced at him underneath tawny eyelashes was one of trepidation and caution, afraid that he would lash out at her.

But then, Uryuu's eyes softened; the corners of his mouth twitched, and his lips curled. His word of thanks was light and barely audible but it made her turn pink all the same. He was smiling and there was something beautiful in the shape of his eyes, genuine and bright as they looked at her.

His gaze was so intense.

She gulped, touching her nose and the corners of her mouth; wondering if there was something left over from breakfast that was making him stare at her so.

"Is there something on my face?"

His response to that was a low throaty chuckle that only served to confuse her more. The glow of the rising sun had a startling effect of making him younger, softer in the set of his eyes even as they fixed themselves on her. They made it impossible for her to look away.

"I-I-I have to go and see what Aunt Yoruichi wants done before you leave."

She stuttered out her excuse like an idiot, stumbling out of his tent with her face on fire.

See- he was a strange man and at this point, Orihime was left to wonder if strangeness was a contagious disease. And if it were, were sweaty palms and dry mouth its accompanying symptoms?

.

.

.

Rukia's eyes narrowed at the sight of the Intended seated under the shade of the _bayt._

He had summoned the tribesmen before him to make a grand announcement of sorts. Around him stood members of the Council, Grimmjow and Yoruichi included, but no signs of the Ishida scion. Strange, she thought; seeing as to how the man had been akin to an almost permanent fixture by the Sheikh's side for the past two days. She wondered if the announcement had anything to do with the man's absence and more importantly, what the nature of said announcement was.

She grimaced. The way her clothes were sticking to her back was disgusting. The heat was stifling and her temper made short by it.

She had been busy, pestle and mortar set before her, right in the middle of grounding herbs when he made the summons. The idea of baking under the sun with her task half-done while he sat there prettily twiddling his thumbs irked her.

What sort of invitation was he waiting for?

"You're staring, again."

She frowned at Nanao.

"I wasn't. And what do you mean by 'again'?"

The older woman's amusement was faint in the lines of her eyes and her tone light.

"Just something that I've noticed lately. Has no one told you that you're always staring at the Sheikh, Rukia?"

Nanao was stoic, expressionless even, but time had proven that her coldness belied an amusingly dry sense of humour. Rukia rolled her eyes- more so when she heard Nemu giggling. What Nanao was insinuating couldn't have been further from the truth.

Besides, it was hard not to stare.

His red cloak was so bright it was glaring and the awful bands of gold and heavy amulets must have weighed at least a ton on him, combined with the way the light reflected off his impressive rows of fineries, she snorted; he couldn't have painted a bigger target on his back.

She was saved from the indignity of explaining herself by the sudden emergence of the Sheikh. Nanao's attention shifted, seemingly forgetting the conversation they were having.

Rukia's gaze followed suit.

It was odd to see him this way. Quietness and stillness didn't suit him, especially without a sword by his side.

She had only seen him in full regalia once- his ceremonial wear that blended scarlet, gold and azure into an attire that denoted his rank and status. The effect of it was intimidating and impressive- just as it had been intended on the day of Orihime's adoption ceremony. His blade was replaced by a strange-looking staff; curved at the tip with a golden hand rest melded onto wood. The globe that hung from the curved end housed a jewel no bigger than a pigeon's egg.

There was a certain gleam to it- traces of something ancient that even she could not name. And when the light of the sun hit it, the glow emitted was as red as fresh blood.

The sight of it unsettled her.

.

"We are going to war!"

.

Rukia's fists clenched. Next to her Nanao's lips were drawn to a tight line; the hold she had on Nemu's hand was tight enough to make the younger girl wince.

The weight of his announcement floored her. A quick glance around her surroundings showed that the shocked sentiments were shared by all the tribesmen. Her mind raced- panicking at the news; she thought she would have more time.

"The Council has not agreed to this," Grimmjow's disapproval was loud as he marched out of the tent. Even the combined strengths of three elders and their glares were not enough to hold him back.

Rukia was inclined to agree with the hateful man for once.

What was the meaning of this?

This tribe was more than sufficient. There was no reason to seek conflict. Why would Ichigo risk what he already has- the stability of his people, the prosperity from the spice trade? What could he possibly seek to gain from war?

Ichigo waved them off, unaffected by the menacing presence of his cousin -"The Council will have no reason to disagree with my decision."

He turned to his tribesmen, "You know me. You watched me become the man I am today, watched me grow from the pain of losing my parents, my grandfather and you share my loss. The day the Espadas attacked was the day our lives changed forever. Be it a parent, a spouse, a sibling or a friend- everyone here has had someone who meant something taken away. Not a day goes by that we are not reminded of their absence in our lives, haunted by our inability to protect them."

He slammed the blunt end of the staff against the shifting sands. His voice echoed through the ranks.

"I won't bore you with words when it is time to act. I beseech you to rise to the occasion. Rise to avenge their deaths!" he roared.

"The Espadas have been sighted and word has been sent to our allies. The desert people pay back the due that is owed a hundred times over! I ask you now to lend me your blade! Show them our fury and redeem our honour!"

The rallying cry of enthusiasm and support from the crowd surprised her. She turned to see the fire ignited within them, their resolve sharpening into focus as they answered his call to arms.

He had a way with words. His speech stirred his people, reminded them of their loss and roused them into action. Their wills came together as one and their hunger for revenge palpable.

Rukia's heart skipped a beat, hands clammy. She felt only despair.

She gulped- meeting his gaze. The gleam in his eyes was eerie. The images of him she had seen in her visions- imperious on his war horse, soulless as he cut down men and beasts alike- overlapped with the man she saw before her.

Darkness- something less than human shifted under his skin, biding its time to make his appearance.

War was coming.

The events of her _sweven_ were unfolding before her eyes and she was wholly unprepared for it. She thought she would have more time- more time to gauge the Intended's character for herself, more time to come to a decision.

She _needed_ more time.

.

" _Are you with me?"_

_._

_._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*whispers*_ **International Ichiruki Hentai Weekend (IIHWE)**. Are you ready? 😎


	14. Be Still

.

Despite the declaration of war, life carried on at its usual pace. The changes made- if any- were subtle, extra weapon drills squeezed in between idle coffee sessions, haggard-looking caravan traders who dropped by for trades of iron and bronze, the exchange of gold for forged steel under the Council's watchful gaze; most of it was kept out of sight.

Rukia had barely noticed it and by the mark of the second moon, her life in the tribe had settled into a routine. It was simple and her to-do list remarkably shorter: get up, breathe, don't think about the _sweven_ or the upcoming war, pretend to sleep, repeat.

Her mornings were designed to be productive.

Between health visits and foraging for raw materials in the area surrounding the camp, the constant stream of engaging and distracting hard work in the company of Nanao, Nemu and sometimes even the Kurosaki twins kept her destructive thoughts to a minimum. Her nights though were restless and fitful in the arms of nightly terrors that were beyond her control. Wearing herself down to the point of exhaustion worked in her favour. Those were the nights she was too tired to even dream, yet sleepless nights remained a ready occurrence.

She could see the mark they left on her- the dark circles under her eyes and a snappish temper that she kept behind her smiles that never quite reached her eyes. There were days when even the sight of food was disagreeable and she was so angry at herself.

What was she even _doing_ \- how could she allow herself to _eat_ when there were so many things still left to be done?

When the twins commented that she had lost weight the week before though, Rukia had laughed it off with ease, deflecting concerns with an offhanded remark about the weather being too hot to eat. Yet some part of her was left to wonder; how far and for how long can she keep up appearances- feigning interest and faking smiles until someone as perceptive as Nanao caught on.

What would she say then?

What lies would she tell them when confronted about her shaking fingers and screaming fits in the middle of the night?

She sighed as she put on her caftan, waving goodbye to Nemu and Nanao as she left for her morning supply run.

She had more questions than she knew the answers to.

.

.

It was barely noon but her clothes were already damp with sweat.

This barren stretch of land before her breathed no signs of life for miles on end save a few lonely trees that sprung up in no apparent order. The vast emptiness of it tugged at her heartstrings- echoing a song of loss that she knew from her dreams.

Feelings of homesickness filled her; the comforts of her old world- lush and leafy, the thrum of magic that jumped to life with a snap of her fingers; memories from another lifetime ago. The distance that spanned between her and her home- her heart, was more than physical.

Rukia swiped at the trail of sweat from her forehead, forcing herself to look away as she turned her back to it. She tugged the hood of her caftan lower, tried to keep herself covered under her clothes.

The sun's glare was unbearably harsh. Parts of her skin left exposed felt like they were being lit on fire.

This heat was not normal- extreme even by the tribesmen's standards. The sweltering heat wave stewed and festered, bringing everything under the sun to its knees while the desert wind raged, its bite harsh and dry. The combination of sun and hot air was toxic and threatened their precious water supply. In the desert lands, the latter spelled a different sort of doom for all things living.

But that was the least of her worries at the moment.

A storm was coming.

Rukia could feel it in her bones. Something in the brush of the air against her too-warm skin sent a belated warning but by then, it was already too late.

She cursed, gritting her teeth as she hastened her pace towards the tribe, basket heavy with the pickings from her morning excursion and her mouth drawn into a tight line from the effort. She still had ways to go, having ventured further than normal today of all days for better supplies.

Knowing her luck, she wouldn't be surprised if she found herself swept up in its warpath.

.

.

.

There was something indulgent in the curl of the excess of hot air- bringing sluggishness to movements, heaviness to eyelids. He shut his eyes and allowed his breathing to even. The world drew to a silence; conversations halted and then—

.

_Thwack!_

.

He yelped, sitting upright and eyes wide open. The glare that his aunt shot him was disapproving and sharp.

"How can you sleep at a time like this?" she hissed.

Ichigo shrugged, muffling the yawn with the back of his hand. It could not be helped; he would much rather spend his day under the sun shoeing a horse or leading his men at weapons practice than _this_.

"Can't we just agree that I will lead the charge and leave it at that? At least until after the meeting with the Vizards and Shinigamis? We're not even sure about the Espada's whereabouts let alone draw up a battle plan against them!"

There must be something else that they can do besides this, he thought; running a hand through his hair as he vented. Talk was cheap- talks of war even more so; the intent wasn't there and the warrior in him felt slighted.

War and conflict was a thing that needed to be felt, the rush of emotions as lines began to blur and instincts took over. Just the two of them here, sitting down and talking the plans over would never amount to anything worthwhile.

"You are not thinking things through!" Yoruichi chided, "Even as allies, the tribe cannot show weakness before the Vizards or the Shinigamis. How do you think it would look if we start off the meeting behaving as though we had not given due considerations about the upcoming battle?"

Yoruichi's glower was dark. A man harped often enough about the glory of crossing blades, sang enough songs about dying upon his sword and the honour of it; a woman knew better- she lived through the horrors.

"You're not taking this seriously enough! War isn't just waged over a single battle. There are other things to consider as well. How large of an army can you raise? How many blades can you spare? How would you clothe and feed these men?"

The sheepish look he gave her as he scratched at the back of his nape had her rolling her eyes. A boy playing at the role of a general; she winced- he'd lead those men to their graves without her.

"Do you want to be taken seriously or not?"

Ichigo winced, suitably chastised. Yoruichi was right of course, and whatever criticism she deemed fit to hurl at him, he would accept it- thankful for her guidance and support. Her presence lent credibility to his decision to declare war. Anyone else would have turned tail and ran; as many would attest the price for going against the Espadas was steep.

He forced his attention to the map spread out before him. The lamb skin underneath his fingertips was soft and delicate as he traced the little marks made. The words- characters etched to the sides made little sense to him but Uryuu had spent enough time to make sure he could read a map unaided.

His finger tapped, sliding across the map as they traced the travel route to be taken. The tribe was moving southwards to the trading ports. With luck Uryuu's mission would be successful and the three tribes would reconvene at the arranged site, right at the outskirts of the Rukongai- three stops from now and presumably the next city that the Espadas sought to pillage and conquer.

The meeting wasn't due for at least another six moons. Enough time to drill his men, prepare the necessary supplies, solve potential logistics issues, and yield enough gold from the trades on route to fund their campaign.

"What's the asking price for iron ore these days?"

Yoruichi made a face. "We're being fleeced. The traders are charging us an arm and a leg for it- an _uqiyyah_ of ground pepper for it- pound for pound!–" she scoffed –"I wasn't born yesterday! We might need to rethink our strategy of smelting our own wea–"

.

" _Sandstorm!"_

.

The frantic shouts outside drew his attention. He met his aunt's gaze as they both sprinted out of the tent.

Giants made of dust-laden cloud were coming at them. The winds brought forth their rage and the bite of it was gritty and dry, sucking the moisture out of the air like marrow from bones. The miasmic plumes loomed tall and towered over all things living, throwing their world into darkness as the sun disappears behind them.

"Is everyone accounted for?" he shouted.

The Council had gathered before his _bayt_ and the elders bobbed their heads, drawing their scarves tightly across their faces as the wind picked up speed.

Ichigo's relief was palpable. One did not outrun a storm; one waited it out- as long as his people were accounted for, he would rest easy knowing whatever damage that was incurred was likely to be structural and replaceable. The desert people were hardy and made a living out of rebuilding their lives from tragedies.

This one would be no different to the rest.

"Rukia is missing!"

His attention shifted. Nanao- the widow's hair was in disarray and her fists bundled at her skirts as she approached him.

"She hasn't returned since morning. I've looked everywhere else for her."

He squinted.

.

_There!_

.

Visibility was poor under the clouds of dust but he thought he could just make out the silhouette of a lone figure in the distance, basket in one arm and making her way towards the tribe.

That _stupid_ woman!

What was she even doing out in the open? She was never going to make it back to them in time with that heavy load. She should have just dropped the basket and come running back to the tribe at the very first instance of seeing the dust clouds gathering.

His scowl was deep. There wasn't even much time left to react, let alone think.

"Ichigo! Stop!"

"My sheikh! You mustn't—"

He ignored them and called for Zangetsu. The war horse came charging through- a blur of shadows as the sleek black animal sent onlookers dodging in every direction possible to avoid the charge of heavy hooves. Saddleless and rein-less, Ichigo jumped on to his horse and took off in the direction of the healer.

He had faith in his instincts and Zangetsu. They would find her.

.

.

.

Her world was cast in shades of brown and grey as she stumbled half-blind through the ordeal of dust clouds and hot air.

The air was dry and the dust stung her eyes. Rukia drew the caftan tighter around her face as she made her progress slowly. The thick plumes of dust distorted her senses, she couldn't see anything, couldn't even tell you if she was headed in the right direction, and it was just as hard to hear as the wind howled.

The obvious thing to do was to seek shelter and wait the storm out but _where?_

There wasn't even a tree in sight let alone a rock to hide under. She frowned, frustrated at herself.

How did she let herself into getting stranded in the middle of a sandstorm?

Now she was going to die. Buried under a mountain of sand without even a stone to mark her grave and she probably deserved every bit of the pain and suffering leading to it. She was unworthy of Shirayuki's sacrifice, _weak_ –

.

A body collided with hers, tackling her on to the sandy ground. The wind knocked right out of her as she landed on her back.

The hood of her caftan slid low over her eyes and her world became dark.

Rukia stiffened, too surprised to even react until she felt the breath of another warming her cheeks. The shoulders were broad- too broad to be a woman's, the nervous bob of his Adam's apple as he gulped and the beating of his heart too loud- loud enough to drown out the roar of the desert wind and mimicked the terseness of her own.

A man's body lied on top of her; pinning her down.

With that realization, things fell into place- she was kicking and squirming away, hands clawing at her assailant's face as anger flooded her tiny body.

How dare this… _this_ … _**animal**_ seek to take advantage of her under these dire circumstances?

.

Ichigo growled, narrowly avoiding her punches as his hands shot to grip at her wrists; thighs bracketing her hips to avoid her kicks. This was not the hero's welcome that he was expecting.

He didn't leap off a horse to risk getting disfigured or kicked at!

"Hey! Stop that! It's me!"

Her struggling ceased as she recognized the voice. It should scare her how vividly she could picture the edges to his face- see the curl of his lips and the deep furrow in his brows even without her sight.

" _Ichigo?"_

"Who else?"

He caught her. A hand cradling the back of her head as they tumbled to soften the impact.

Her body- soft, small, impossibly more delicate than he had ever imagined- was pressed tightly to his and it made him mindful of the way their bodies landed to avoid crushing her. He had little doubt that Zangetsu would survive and come back to him in one piece. Rukia though was the sort of woman he could imagine being blown away by the wind.

Safe, he would keep her safe.

He threw his cloak over them, successful in his attempts despite the furious tug-of-war with the elements. Then, underneath it, he shielded her body with his own- willing her to stay grounded under him; keeping their bodies small and flat.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

Rukia gulped nervously. The rustling of cloth in the wild winds was unbearably loud before a shadow was cast over and her world became a cocoon- dark, tight and cramped with Ichigo hovering over her. Sweat dripped and in this enclosed space, every greedy breath of air she took in was tinged with the sharpness of his scent.

Shoulders lined, front to front.

They were too close like this- close enough for her to smell him and hear the beating of his heart. His hand at the back of her head moved to tuck her into the crook in his shoulder while the other supported the brunt of his weight. He faced her- head resting at the crook of her shoulder, a good perch as any with the softness of her hair cushioning his face against coarse sand.

Her face burned.

His touch was much too warm; his body feverish, and in this stifling heat, felt scalding on her. Her hands- she thought in sudden panic; what should she do with her hands?

"Keep as still as possible. It'll be over before you know it, I promise."

The reply felt strangely intimate as he whispered into her ear. Her mouth felt dry and the shell of her ear tingled from where his lips stilled. She could feel goosebumps rising in the wake.

She shuddered at the ticklish sensation.

"Stop squirming!"

His reprimand had the opposite effect as warm air fanned her burning cheeks. She rolled her eyes, retorting just as harshly to him, "Then stop breathing so close to me!"

It wasn't like she was doing it on purpose for crying out loud! This situation was embarrassing enough as it was.

"Are you _ticklish_?"

"Are _you_ stupid?"

He growled. Warm hands that gripped her tightened.

"The first and last time I'd ever try to rescue you from something!"

"Duly noted," came her clipped tone.

They settled into a tenuous agreement of silence after that.

Ichigo was tight-lipped, occupied by the measure of control he exercised on his body, the strain on his muscles as he carefully kept his weight off her. The grit of teeth, the salt from his sweat, the slight tremor from over-exertion- she could feel them.

Her arms stilled by her side- joints aching, raking her nails through sand and clenching fistfuls of them while trying to breathe through her nose. It was much harder than it looked.

Time passed agonizingly slow. She lost count after the hundredth heartbeat.

The howl of wind remained angry and indecipherable to her ears but Ichigo was a child of the desert- thoroughbred and well-taught; knew of the nuances in the high notes of desert wind as well as her lulls.

He lifted the cloak as soon as he could feel the storm dying.

The sun was blinding in the outside world and air- sweet, merciful, divine air filled his lungs. A shadow loomed over him, blocking the sun and his eyes peered lazily over that of Zangetsu's, softly neighing as it came to nuzzle at his face. The warm air the horse breathed was dank and mildly nauseating but Ichigo tolerated it.

Unlike _some_ people, he happened to have a working concept of what gratitude was.

"A 'thank you' would be nice, _Rukia_."

Violet eyes narrowed at him. The woman flung herself as far as she could from him the instant he lifted the cloak off. Her eagerness to get away was almost amusing- the sharp tongue she had on her less so.

"This is not proper, my sheikh. It's **Healer** Rukia," she said.

"I'm hurt-" a hand pressed to his heart as he picked himself up- "I thought we were friends. Besides, I'm just returning the favour, _Rukia_."

Her cheeks coloured. She was carefully avoiding his eyes as she brushed off the sand on her clothes.

"Forgive me. It was a careless slip of the tongue in a moment of panic. I wouldn't have- I shouldn't have- I mean, we are **not** friends."

Ichigo frowned.

"But we can be though. I would like to be your friend if you would let me. But if you don't want to—"

She hesitated. He recognized the nervousness in her movement as she tugged at her caftan, finding a pattern in the swirl of the sand beneath them. He'd make it easier for her- show her in the most direct way possible how a friendship with the most powerful man in the tribe would benefit her.

"It's a shame though. To think that you'd have to walk all the way back to the tribe when I have a horse with me and there's more than enough room on Zangetsu for you. But then again, rules exist for a reason. It wouldn't be proper for one."

Rukia had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. A look of disbelief from her as if to ask when the issue of propriety, or the lack thereof had ever bothered him.

"Now if we were friends though," he smirked, "I wouldn't mind sharing. A sheikh is allowed to take certain liberties after all and as the friend of such a powerful man, I would imagine certain rules need not be applied."

Rukia chewed at her lower lip, mulling over his offer, then, won over by his brand of logic, "O-Okay."

He thought that she would see it his way. Smart girl.

He mounted Zangetsu and wordlessly steered the horse towards the still kneeling woman.

"Well come on, _Rukia_. What are you waiting for? An invitation?"

Smugness laced his tone as he tilted his head, extending a hand to her. Her flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes made for quite a sight when combined with her fierce scowl. He could tell that she was annoyed at his casual address of her. Yoruichi would cuff his ears, talk his head off about how his behaviour wasn't proper if she was here but he couldn't have cared less.

Rukia took his hand.

For a moment, he marvelled at the smallness of her hands and how fragile her body felt as he set her in front of him. He stared at the back of her head, frowning as he recalled how easy it was to lift her by the waist. He could snap her in half if he wasn't careful and a wolf could just as easily maul her into bits in this savage land that they called home.

This woman must be either very brave or just plain stupid enough to escape from her destroyed city and cast her lots with them. Desert life was not for everyone. Life as a wandering nomad was hard and only made somewhat bearable with a tribe to call your own.

"Whenever you're ready but preferably before we both die of old age," her voice chimed with a strong hint of sarcasm that had him almost dropping her face-first to the ground.

He bit his tongue.

How could he forget?

With that sharp tongue of hers, she might just feel at home with the local wildlife that ranged from snakes to scorpions. Her words certainly carried the sting of the latter.

This woman that Yoruichi had called a double-edged sword; recognized the damage that could be dealt from her if they slipped up- Ichigo couldn't make up his mind about her. He stayed true to his plans of winning her over, turning her into an ally but to a woman like her- what did she truly make of his friendship?

What would she do now that she has it?

Would he live to regret his decision of befriending her?

He dug his heels into the horse's sides and without warning, spurred Zangetsu into a run.

The way her exotic eyes lit up with anger as she glared- he hid his smile, avoiding her gaze as he stared resolutely into the horizon; worth every bit of it. And if anyone were to accuse him of riling the healer up intentionally, he certainly wasn't going to admit it.

It certainly wasn't because he liked the little yelp of surprise she gave as her body slid backwards against him.

.

.

.

Zangetsu slowed to a trot as the tribe came into view. As soon as Ichigo dismounted, he was enveloped into a fierce hug by the twins. After much cajoling and a stern promise to never do that again, he was released from their tight grips and allowed to breathe.

Then turning his gaze to Rukia still sitting astride Zangetsu, he bowed exaggeratedly much to the embarrassment of the healer and with courteousness that would have made his aunt beam with pride, helped her dismount.

The fire in her eyes promised retribution even as she accepted his helping hand but he merely grinned, letting the warmth of her hand in his and the fit of her waist in his arms still his mind.

The tenseness in the air did not dissipate.

His eyes flitted over to the gathered Council, standing on ceremony and eyes incredibly shifty. Yoruichi's expression was grim and he knew something was wrong, more so when he saw the obvious gloating on Grimmjow's face.

"You've actually gone and outdone yourself this time, Cousin."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes.

"Speak plainly, Grimmjow. Subtlety doesn't suit you. What do you mean?"

"It's a sign," Grimmjow replied, "While you were gone the Council has agreed that the sandstorm is a sign sent by the ancestors and spirits. They do not look favourably to the upcoming war with the Espada and you have offended them with your decision to make war. We will hold a meeting in a weeks' time to decide if you are indeed worthy of the position of Sheikh."

Ichigo clenched his fist and bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood. They wouldn't _**dare**_ \- not when everything he worked for, the alliance that Uryuu was securing on his behalf, the promise for vengeance itself so sweet and tempting.

They can't do this to him- not now.

" _Bullshit!_ "

Grimmjow's tone was mocking as he said, "And yet the Council has agreed. Surely you're not going to go against the decision of the Council, _my sheikh_?"

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been harder than most. NGL I feel drained but I hope you enjoy this chapter.


	15. Mercenary (I)

.

Nanao and Nemu had pulled her into a tight hug as soon as she was far away enough from the sheikh's presence.

Rukia returned the gesture fiercely and warmly. The two of them were the sisters she never had and their care for her wellbeing humbled her. As she understood from what little she had managed to glean from the tribesmen, she owed her life to Nanao. If the woman hadn't alerted the Sheikh to her disappearance, Rukia's life would have been as good as forfeited in the sandstorm.

The knife in her gut plunged a little bit deeper with every shred of affection the pair showered on her but her mask stayed on despite her inner turmoil. For the moment, she was just happy to be alive. There was much to be thankful for and she was happy to have found people who cared about her and happy to know that things were far from over for her and the mission.

The sandstorm was a turning point.

She side-eyed the argument brewing between the cousins, where Grimmjow's jeer was taunting and gleeful, in comparison to Ichigo's tight voice. She knew her sheikh's ire well enough to know that it burnt deceptively cool when truly irate. If his tone and clenched fists were any indication at all, this was another storm just waiting to happen but this storm, Rukia welcomed it.

Shirayuki's sacrifices were not in vain and she would see to it. Melancholia was a dream of yesterday as Rukia came to the realization of what she could now accomplish with the Intended's offer of friendship.

Becoming his friend was the first step in extending her influence; moving towards her end goal to be Guardian and preventing her _sweven_ from happening.

Yoruichi was right. She wasn't a saint.

She was a ruthless, honourless woman who would do anything for the sake of her mission. A desperate woman like her didn't have the luxury of pretending.

This was honouring Lady Shirayuki's memories and sacrifices. This was the end justifying the means. It was for the greater good- the bigger picture. She was using him and she didn't hesitate- didn't think twice, didn't feel bad about twisting his offer of friendship to suit her purposes.

Rukia's fists clenched. She didn't feel bad about it.

She refused to!

.

.

Ichigo hid his anger well enough in front of a crowd.

He was first and foremost, still a Sheikh and held to a high regard. Anything less than dignified conduct in the face of Grimmjow's taunts would have helped to prove Grimmjow's case and painted him as an unsuitable candidate.

So he dug his nails hard enough into his palms to make them bleed, tasted copper from the way he bit his tongue to keep the angry choice words within.

In the confines of his _bayt_ though, he smashed all the pottery and porcelains in sight; a deep and dull clatter and crash as all the heavy ornaments toppled, their contents spilling over when he knocked over the table in rage.

Yoruichi eyed the destruction with mild annoyance. He was such a child in that aspect.

"Feeling better now?" she drawled sarcastically.

He growled. His hands were bleeding but he hadn't even noticed.

Interference from Grimmjow had caught him off guard. Of all the things that Ichigo had thought that he would have to come up against, he hadn't expected this. The Council was a gullible lot, he thought bitterly; to think that they would be swayed by Grimmjow's forked tongue- cowed by mere weather and brought to believe in what the bastard proclaimed as supposed verdicts of the spirits and ancestors.

A sheikh was only mortal and all his means and schemes earth-bound, and as such powerless against supernatural forces. His eyes met Yoruichi whose calm eyes betrayed nothing.

Breathe, he reminded himself to keep breathing.

"How bad is it?"

His aunt's silence was telling. Things did not look good for them and he knew what needed to be done.

"Bribe whoever that can be bought over to our side," he told her. Some loyalties can still be bought. They would spare no expenses and with enough numbers on their side, they may still hold majority- or so he hoped; but that still wasn't good enough, they needed an ally powerful enough to secure their future.

Gold and fear can only hold sway over so many things until the binds frayed. They had talked about this. Their contingency plan in the worst case scenario; he would offer himself up. The position of head wife- the future clan and tribe matriarch was kept empty for this very purpose.

His jaw clenched, "Bring me a list, Aunt."

Better him than the twins.

They would find another clan- strong enough to back them up and bind the two together with ties of mutual interest; sanctify it and declare it blessed by the ancestors and spirits. They have less than a week to narrow down the list of his potential in-laws. Any daughter of the main family would do; he wasn't picky.

Yoruichi's nod was approving and she inclined her head with more deference than usual. She understood what sacrifice was and a sheikh was a position that demanded many of such.

"It will be done, my sheikh."

.

Suddenly, a voice called out from outside the _bayt._ The voice was unmistakably Rukia's as the healer requested permission to seek audience with him.

The Kurosakis stilled. Ichigo's expression turned thoughtful, curious to know the reason behind her visit. Ignoring the glare from his aunt, he granted her permission.

Rukia's hands were shaking as she entered his _bayt_ , eyes widening when she noticed that he wasn't alone. Yoruichi was with him and the shrewdness of the older woman made her nervous.

She licked her dry lips, half-dreading rejection when she voiced her demand.

"I requested a private audience, my sheikh."

Yoruichi's scoff was loud but Rukia resolutely refused to back down. Her stare was open, wide and her eyes- Ichigo thought to himself that a sheikh shouldn't be brought to make compromises simply because of bewitching eyes that belong to healers who were more trouble than they're worth.

He sighed.

"As we have discussed earlier, Yoruichi. The list."

His aunt's glare spoke of her displeasure but a wise woman like her knew better than to undermine his authority in front of a tribe member. With a bow, the woman left wordlessly and there was only the two of them left.

"You are injured."

He snorted. As astute as that observation was, if all that the woman sought from this private audience was an offer to heal him in part to ease her guilty conscience then the meeting was simply time wasted on his end. He had more pressing matters to attend to and he told her as much. Kurosakis never minced their words, no matter how callous it may seem.

"You needn't be concerned over such shallow wounds. Orihime or Yuzu can dress the wounds later. Is there something else I can help you with, Rukia?"

"No, my sheikh," she raised her eyes to meet his and he saw the fire there, the conviction and it burnt him, "the question is if there is anything that **I** can help _you_ with."

"I don't follow."

Rukia's eyes were on his and her gaze unwavering when she offered, "I can help to make your problems go away."

"Such bold claims," he tapped his chin, "you must excuse me if I admit that I find it a little hard to believe."

"Humour me, my sheikh. Are we not _friends_?"

Ah, he walked right into that one.

The smirk she shot him bordered on insolence, but he couldn't help but feel amused. The minx was crafty. Already she was using his words against him and he was right in his assumptions. A lifetime of dealing with strong women who secretly rule the roost had taught him well.

They are not so different, him and Rukia: rules only exist up to the point until they start getting in the way of things they wanted.

"Ok, I'll bite. How?"

"I can make your claim to Sheikh irrefutable."

"Irrefutable how?"

Her eyes met his, "No one will ever find reason to doubt the legitimacy of your rule ever again."

Ichigo paused, suddenly wary. He was an unconventional choice for a successor to say the least. And the dying wish of his grandfather can only hold so much weight against the public outcries and disapproval that the old sheikh was denouncing centuries-worth of tradition, turning his back on his own heritage for that matter in his decision to have Ichigo succeed him.

Patrilineal primogeniture was the backbone of lineage organization in their society. The eldest son- the firstborn male heir was favoured if nothing else to ensure the survival of the main branch. Grimmjow as the eldest male in their generation, the firstborn son of Ichigo's uncle who was coincidentally the old sheikh's firstborn son had a far better claim by comparison and challenged him for the position almost immediately after their grandfather was laid to rest. Yoruichi's decision to hail Ichigo as the true leader of the clan and tribe was a deciding factor in the succession crisis and partly the reason as to why the latter was still sheikh.

But even then the threat of usurpation was a constant thorn at his side. For the sake of presenting a united front before the tribe, Ichigo couldn't risk a complete fallout with his cousin and risk dividing the Kurosaki clan up further. And Grimmjow exploited that weakness to his full advantage.

As evidenced in the recent of turn of events, the Council was full of opportunists and cowards. All it took was a gust of hot wind and dry sand- a few whispered words of divine intervention from the spirits and they were back at square one, undoing all his hard work for the past three years; calling into question his legitimacy as sheikh.

What Rukia was proposing sounded too good to be true and in his experience, tended to lure in fools who are desperate and greedy enough to throw caution to the wind.

He was not going to be made a fool of.

"How do you plan on doing it? And why?" he asked, "You told my aunt that you refuse to be a pawn and here you are- showing your clear support for me, saying that you will help me. What are you playing at?"

Rukia saw his narrowed eyes and willed her anxiety to keep itself at bay. She had too much on the line and much of her future hinged on her performance in delivering the next few lines. She needed to appear calm and confident.

"I'm not playing at anything. All I ask for my services is due compensation."

Now his interest was piqued. What would she propose to be a worthwhile favour, an equivalent exchange for such a powerful gesture of silencing all doubts on his position as sheikh?

"Name it!"

"You will make me a Council member."

His response to this was an incredulous bark of laughter.

This woman had a gift.

Underneath her soft skin and apple cheeks, she was every bit a trader as the tribesmen were- shrewd, mercenary and ruthless in her negotiations and this bargain that she was driving at— he shook his head. She couldn't possibly have known how hard it would be for him to have her installed as a Council member.

The disapproval from the elders, he could feel a headache coming just from the mere thought.

"Why should I?"

"The Kasumoiji seat is empty. Kon is still too young but that seat can't remain unoccupied until the boy is of age to come into his birth right-" her insight was piercing and she knew she had him right where she wanted- "you don't need a pawn. You need an ally and you need one on the Council **now**."

"And you'll be that ally? Out of the goodness of your own heart?" he snorted.

She shrugged.

"You can believe what you want to. But know that it was you who first approached me with a proposal of friendship, rather hypocritical of you to now suspect me of ulterior motives, don't you think?"

Her smile was sardonic.

She was right of course and the way their negotiation was playing out, he was the one who stood to gain the most if her plan succeeded. What had he got to lose given that Yoruichi was already busy working on a contingency plan anyway?

"Do we have a deal?"

Ichigo eyed her extended hand with suspicion. It irked him to know that she had him figured out, knew his desperation and came up with a solution that was so tailored to his needs that she made his approach seem almost juvenile by comparison.

He knew nothing of her motives and this ignorance didn't sit well with him. There had to something in it for her as well for her to be pushing so hard on this.

"Come to think of it, you never did answer the 'how' to my question. What exactly are you planning to do, Rukia?"

She smiled, showing dimples. Faking smiles came easily with enough practice.

"I can't tell you that. You'll just have to trust me for now. That's what friends do after all- they trust each other?"

The look he gave in response was calculating at best and for a moment, her breath caught- afraid that he had seen through her false bravado and was going to slap her hand away.

Then, a hand much larger than her own gripped hers and the shake was firm, solid.

"Don't make me regret this, Rukia."

She gulped. The amber flecks in his eyes were uncannily wild as they stared into her own. She was reminded that he was every inch a heathen and a warlord- powerful, unreasonable and unforgiving in all his undertaking.

Her deceits- she prayed that he never saw through them or the blowback might cost her everything.

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.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rukia's playing the confidence game.


	16. Mercenary (II)

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"Fool!"

Yoruichi growled.

That _stupid_ boy had gone ahead and done the one thing that she had cautioned him against doing; had let his little infatuation- for the lack of a better word- get the better of him. Even a blind man could see that the healer was lying. Unless the girl can speak for the spirits themselves, there was hardly anything she could do to the situation that will help at all.

She glared at her husband seated next to her, happily slurping away at his bowl of broth without a care in the world. His loud slurping was hardly conducive to her thinking.

"This is all your fault!" she hissed.

"Me?" Urahara looked up from his bowl. "What did I do?"

Her scowl deepened. "If only you had been a better role model for the boy growing up, we wouldn't even be in this mess!"

The man gave a long-suffering sigh. He didn't even know why he was surprised by this. He should have known she would find some way to pin it on him.

"What will happen, will happen," he told her sagely, "the boy is his father's son. Have you ever known Isshin to have a bone of self-preservation in him?"

Yoruichi's head throbbed. Her husband was right of course.

Like father, like son.

Kurosaki men were born with a heart that wanted too much and an equally deplorable habit of playing fast and loose with the rules. The tendency to live hard and die young shouldn't even come as a surprise. But that was neither here nor there, accursed bloodline or not; now wasn't the time to dwell on such things.

"Precisely why I need your help now. That boy will need all the help he can get!"

"But what can a simple goat-herder like me do?" he protested, "Dearest, we all know that you are both the brains and beauty of this duo. Is there anything in this world that you cannot do?"

She snorted, "Don't play coy. I am not in the mood. What do you think about the Shihouin clan?"

His expression turned thoughtful but then turned to give her a smile that was almost taunting- a far cry from the façade of the happy-go-lucky village idiot he was so fond of donning.

"Your own maternal cousins? Such a blatant show of favouritism is almost unheard of coming from you. Planning to let dear Yuushirou adopt a sister from the branch family then?"

"Just checking to see if you're paying attention, husband of mine," replied Yoruichi coolly, "I wouldn't dream of it. My maternal cousins are notoriously ambitious-" she trailed off. Maybe not Yuushirou himself but the others, she would bet her right hand that they would vie to have the position of Sheikh for themselves. The last thing she wanted was for more scheming in-laws- "we'll let dear Yuushirou handle them."

"Wise choice indeed."

Her fingers tapped against the wooden table. "How about the Arisawa clan?"

They were distantly related- somewhere between third or fourth cousins once removed; if she remembered correctly. The main family had a knack for breeding horses and gained a sizeable fortune from the trade but her husband was less enthused.

"Honestly quite bland for my taste. I would be more supportive if the old clan head is still alive but his son is too green to have the presence to hold his own. Too much work and hardly something you can accomplish in the span of a week."

Yoruichi frowned. She was running out of options. It was a difficult list to begin with she supposed.

Control was the keyword here. The ideal in-laws were to be powerful but not impossible to rein in. The Kurosakis needed to maintain their control over the tribe at all cost.

She frowned. "The Dokugamine clan then?"

Her husband sighed, "A logical choice but I am afraid I have my misgivings about their weapon of choice. The clue is in the name."

Well, Yoruichi couldn't say that she didn't see this argument coming. Poison always made people nervous, rightfully so; but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Now that the Kasumiojis have fallen, Dokugamines have found themselves replacing that niche quite nicely.

"I also feel compelled to tell you that I noticed that our dear Orihime had been spending more time with the Dokugamine girl recently. I wouldn't be surprised if something _unsavoury_ were to happen the minute we make the announcements."

Yoruichi growled. That girl- what a snake pit this household of theirs had turned into!

"She wouldn't dare!"

"On the contrary, dearest-" he gave her a pointed look- "All's fair in love and war. Our new niece is certainly remorseless enough when it comes to proving her love."

Yoruichi pressed a hand against her head. She thought the girl had learnt her lesson but apparently not. Depending on the severity of the outcome, things could go very bad for both clans and might even push the Dokugamine clan in Grimmjow's direction.

"At this rate, our dear nephew will die an unmarried bachelor."

"Now, now," tutted Urahara, "you're simply not looking hard enough. We haven't considered _all_ the possibilities."

Topaz eyes narrowed. "You can't possibly mean the healer girl?"

"Oh but I do."

Yoruichi scoffed. "Age has addled your brain. Mark my words, that girl is nothing but trouble."

"But consider this," Urahara grinned, "she has no family. She is dependent on us. She is not aligned with or related to anyone of importance in the tribe. In other words, no scheming in-laws. And she is certainly smart enough- not a bad choice for an ally if you ask me."

She rolled her eyes.

"You are clearly biased, dear husband. Your penchant for supporting underdogs and heralding lost causes aside, we need someone with at least some footing in the tribe. We want someone easy to control but also someone who can stand on their own. She is neither. The girl has nothing- no gold to her name, no background and no family to back her up! You honestly think that the clan elders will just sit by and do nothing if an orphan like her is chosen?"

Yoruichi shook her head. He couldn't have made a worse suggestion. "She'd be easy pickings for them. Dead before the seat is even warmed and a dead matriarch helps no one."

He shrugged, a curious smile grazing his lips. "Wait and see, dearest. I have a feeling she might surprise all of us."

His wife snorted. "At this rate the only thing that I'd be surprised by is how quickly she ends up dead. Now enough talk about her. The Asanos?"

Urahara bit his tongue. Now she was clearly grasping at the straws but happy wife, happy life or so they say. Best not to contradict her now or he'll never hear the end of it.

He sighed. The broth would have grown cold by the time they're done.

"Branch family of the Kuniedas. Not _nearly_ important enough to even warrant our consideration."

It was going to be a long night.

.

.

.

The grip of summer on the desert lands came earlier than expected.

As a native of the land, Yoruichi attested to the unusual heat this season. There was hardly a drop of moisture in the air and even the servant's feathered fans failed to cool her. Her mind lined heavily with thoughts. She had finally narrowed down her list of candidates with the help of Urahara but even then the situation was far from ideal.

The other clans sensed the disadvantaged position they were in and like the jackals that they were, opportunistic and greedy down to their core; dived in for the kill, drawing out the negotiations and leaving her hanging.

Three days into the negotiations and they were barely inching past the initial stages of haggling.

Frustration bubbled quietly below the surface of the tribe matriarch's seemingly calm façade. Impatience was a weakness and she would sooner die than to admit to any. Kurosakis stood tall and immovable, come what may.

"Healer Rukia seeks an audience with you, Mistress."

Yoruichi's eyelids fluttered open; intrigue gleamed in her catlike eyes. Her approval came in the form of a slight tilt of the head, her hands waving her attendants away to grant her privacy with her guest.

The healer is fetched to appear before her- eyes cast respectfully downwards, her stance dignified and much to the older woman's chagrin, appeared entirely unruffled as they waited in stewed silence.

Her eyes narrowed.

"What is the purpose of your visit, Healer?"

Rukia straightened herself, approaching the seat set before her and took it without hesitation.

"To offer you counsel."

Yoruichi snorted.

"And what counsel could _you_ possibly offer, Healer? I am not my nephew. As you can see I am neither young nor likely to be tempted by your feminine charms. Whatever scheme that you have concocted, I want no part of it."

Rukia appeared unfazed by the accusations levelled at her.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend—" she sipped at the tea served—"I have no reason to want Grimmjow as sheikh so you have nothing to fear from me. I give you my word. I am on your sid—"

"But for how long?"

The matriarch cut her short, tapping her fingers against the wooden serving table as she frowned.

"Your interests and your objectives- I know nothing of them. I do not know anything of you beyond the fact that you escaped the horrors of your burning city and came to us from beyond the mountains."

The glint in Yoruichi's eyes hardened.

"To put it as simply and as plainly as possible, I do not trust you, Healer."

Rukia sighed, setting the tea down.

"I cannot make you trust me, nor am I fond of telling lies. If you cannot bring yourself to trust me then for the moment let us be business partners. The desert people are traders at heart so let me propose a trade worth your while: I will silence all the voices of dissent regarding the Sheikh's legitimacy of rule but my plan requires your cooperation and help."

"Being partners would imply that this idea of yours is somehow feasible. I don't even know where you get the confidence from. But let's assume then that your scheme works, against all odds, what will you have me do to 'help'?"

Rukia's tone of voice was light, "To continue as you have been doing. To proceed with the negotiations but not to rush or give in to any of the clan's demands—"

The older woman scoffed. Who did the minx think she was talking to?

A Kurosaki never rushed or risk underplaying her hands. A woman like her knew the importance of playing coy and not to appear too earnest in matters of business and politics. The wait was a crucial component to every successful negotiation. Those who fold first have the tendency to fold more.

"Anything else?"

"When the time comes, to play the role of the devil's advocate before the Council- ask me _why_."

Yoruichi kept her face blank, showing nothing of her thoughts as she asked again.

"And if your plan doesn't work?"

"Then my life is forfeited. You may do with me as you see fit."

One did not survive to her age without learning a thing or two about cautiousness and Yoruichi was suspicious by nature to begin with.

"No good trader would agree to such a deal that borders on being one-sided without having something to gain. What's in it for you, Rukia?"

The woman's dark eyes met hers and in them Yoruichi saw the fire- the strength of her resolve simmering in cold flame and she leaned back against her cushions, contemplative.

"I want your support. I want to be on the Council."

Yoruichi found herself smiling, teeth showing as she stared at the woman. She saw it then.

There was a hint of something different about the healer- quiet resolution in the set of her shoulders and the way she carried herself that was not there a few moons before. Change- the healer was growing, adapting to the circumstances of her situation and she would rise- rise to the challenges of the desert, rise to stare down at those who once sought to subdue her.

The girl was a woman after her own heart- audacious and unabashedly so.

If it weren't because of her duties and obligations to her sheikh and nephew, Yoruichi thought they might have even been friends.

But as it stood, the safety and the wellbeing of her own blood came first. She had an obligation to their dead parents and her late uncle, driving her to undertake extreme measures, sometimes even against her extended kin. Her wrath and protectiveness had seen to the utter desecration of her enemies and their ideals, annihilating anyone foolish enough to stand in her way.

What's adding another name to the list?

Yoruichi would lose no sleep over it.

"And why would I do such a thing? Introduce a wild card- something that I cannot trust to not come back and stab me in the back into a position of power?"

Rukia's head bowed low but her reply was anything but humble.

"Because I am as much of a wild card to you as I am to the other Elders and I am on your side. I may be just the element of surprise you need on your side to win over the Council."

Yoruichi gave a flippant wave of her hand as she pursed her lips, "This is a waste of my time. Whatever it is that you have planned, it will never work."

"All the more reason for you to take me up on my offer- even if I fail, you would still win and have me at your disposal. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Unless of course, you think otherwise- that despite all that you say, there is a part of you that believes that I can actually turn this around and surprise you?"

Yoruichi brought her hand swiftly down on the wooden top. The loud noise stilled Rukia as she demurely folded her hands to her lap, head bowed lower still.

"You are a million years too young to taunt me."

A grin unfurled on her painted lips, the shrewd gleam in her eyes enough to give anyone pause.

"I give you my word that I will hold off on the announcement of the marriage brokered and assist you on both this current matter as well as your personal endeavour. But I require something in addition to our deal- a personal promise from you that you **must** see to."

Twin pools of ice cut into hers. Yoruichi knew the answer would be a resounding yes from her and she was counting on it.

This _infatuation_ needed to be nipped in the bud. She had seen first-hand what her foolhardy nephew was prepared to do for the sake of this woman. The healer need only ask and Yoruichi had little doubt that her nephew would happily present his heart on a silver platter.

A woman this ambitious, pretty enough with her dark eyes and slender frame- mysterious and aloof with ruthlessness and wilfulness coursing through her veins— Yoruichi knew beyond a doubt. The attraction would prove fatal and cost him everything.

"Ichigo may be young and foolish enough to deny it but I am not. I see it as it is and it will be a tragedy beyond measure when it happens. You will ruin him. When my nephew offers you marriage, you must reject him."

Rukia laughed, spluttering as though the idea had never even occurred to her.

"The Sheikh? I would never—"

"You word, Healer. The desert people are traders, yes but we also hold our words in the highest regards. Your word or nothing at all."

She passed her a knife- its purpose seemingly decorative and ceremonial with the blade polished and reflective enough for Rukia to stare at her own reflection. A blood oath- the older woman wanted her promise sealed in red and scarlet ink. The rites of oath-swearing were taken seriously by the desert people. Should she betray it, Rukia knew the consequences would be dire- a fate worse than death itself.

"Make that oath and show me your sincerity."

But there is no other way. For the sake of the world, the sake of Lady Shirayuki's sacrifice- there can be no other way.

Their eyes met as Rukia crept forward to receive the blade.

With a shuddering breath, the healer conceded, raising her cut palm up and letting the blood well.

"I do so swear solemnly. And should I break my vow: may I die the most gruesome death known to men, have my corpse mangled by beasts of all nature and my soul shall be doomed to wander for all eternity- haunted to know no peace."

.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay attention people. This will all come back to haunt them later. And for those who are interested, there is an IR discord group, ask me for the link!


	17. A Witch amongst Men

**.**

There were rumours that the healer woman had lost her mind.

What other explanation could there be with her sudden disappearance from the public eye over the course of the week, her reluctance to see patients; coupled with the strange smell of burning herbs that she kept over her hearth- the scented fumes wafting tirelessly no matter the time of the day?

Officially it was said that she had taken ill. For the sake of containing the illness, Nanao was the only one allowed to enter her tent, dropping by with food and water every few days.

The tribesmen knew better. Her odd behaviour stemmed from her brush with death. The spirits were of a fickle nature and did not appreciate having what they had considered as theirs; stolen from their grasp and as such they have robbed her off her sanity.

Their sheikh may have saved her life but the spirits have laid claim on her mind and soul. The shadow of her mortality hung over her and it was only a matter of time before her human body succumbed, giving way to the curse just as her mind had.

If only they knew the truth.

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.

The weather outside may be hot but the temperature inside the healer's tent was boiling. Nanao huffed, dabbing at the sweat rolling down her neck as she stared at the untouched food.

Her lips were cracked from the heat, her mouth dry and head made dizzy from the heavy fumes shortly after she entered but Rukia seemed strangely unaffected by it.

"You need to eat, Rukia."

The healer hummed in response but otherwise seemed content to ignore her.

Sweat-drenched, Rukia's hair was plastered to her face, her skin uncommonly pallid; but her eyes were bright, burning with an intensity that was almost inhuman as she added another log into the fire.

Nanao tried again, "The Kurosaki twins have been asking for you again. Is this really necessary?"

The rumours were not entirely baseless. Even Nanao was forced to admit that she was more than a little concerned for the healer's state of mind and physical well-being.

Rukia had kept the herbal incense burning for three days straight.

Their sheikh had sent messengers to hurry her and her patients have asked for her but Rukia refused to see any of them. She had ignored all her duties, barely eating or sleeping- if the dark circles around her eyes gave any indication at all- in favour of tending to her hearth and seeing to it that the embers never dimmed.

"Humour me, Nanao."

The widow's frown deepened.

Whatever ritual she was conducting, it was neither sane nor safe. If this carried on any longer, Nanao was worried that she really might die.

As if sensing her thoughts, Rukia looked up- her irises a shade paler than normal, the outline of her features rendered sharper somehow by the shroud of the incense burning.

Dried sage, thyme, cardamom, with a touch of myrrh; incense for the clarity of mind, cleansing of energies; granting courage, earthy and grounding.

"I know what I'm doing, Nanao. Trust me. I won't die."

The woman sighed, adjusting her spectacles, "For your sake I really hope you don't. What in the name of the spirits are you planning?"

Rukia's smile was faint, the corners of her mouth barely twitching.

"You'll see."

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On the fifth dawn of her self-imposed isolation, Rukia swept into the Council meeting unannounced with her hair sleek and washed, dressed immaculately in clean clothes. There was ice in her veins as she stood before the Council, unbowed and unapologetic at her intrusion.

"Stop!"

Her voice echoed and she was at once the focal point of everyone's attention. She could feel their gazes- hot and searing, burning holes through her. Some genuinely curious- chiefly from that of her sheikh and his faction, others speculative and enquiring; but above all else, she could feel their disapproval of her sudden presence.

This was a man's world and she, much like Yoruichi- only worse in her title-less position, had no place here.

"What is the meaning of this, Healer? Are you lost? This is a private Council meeting. You are intruding."

Grimmjow's sneer cut her deep. It came as no surprise that he would be the first to cast his scorn, to ridicule her. Boisterous laughter joined in, chiding her presence but Rukia stood her ground, ignoring their harsh tones and angry voices. Her fingers trembled but she hid them in her sleeves, clenching them hard instead.

The moment was upon her and she would be damned if she let fear get the better of her.

She reached out, willing her forgotten goddess to hear her prayers- to let her voice carry and not break; her resolve not to falter.

Before the Council, it would take all her wits and all the luck and blessings from her patron goddess to see things through. Her gambit had to work!

"My humblest of apologies," her head dipped low, "but this cannot wait. The spirits have spoken to me and bid me to come."

Yoruichi quirked an eyebrow. She shared a look of intrigue with her sheikh as the latter cleared his throat and asked questions while she leaned back against her perch, curious to see where the healer was leading with it.

"What have they bid you to do, Healer?"

"To stop this madness. To speak and intervene on behalf of the ancestors and spirits."

Grimmjow scoffed.

"The spirits and the ancestors?" he spat at her, "You are no shamaness or holy woman of the tribe. Know your place, _Healer!_ "

Rukia's eyes flitted sharply to the man, unafraid and when she spoke, her words rang with conviction that one was hard-pressed to believe. Something in her glare cut deep despite her soft voice.

"Yet the ancestors have deemed me worthy and I have seen _it_. For the past week I have been haunted by their presence, made to do as they have asked- to burn incense and cleanse in order to better receive their instructions and now I come before the Council as a messenger and deliver this: Sheikh Ichigo has their blessing. All those who stand against the Sheikh will earn no blessing from them."

"We are no fools! I for one do not believe the words of a wench who came from the mountains. Your words hold no weight here!"

"Grimmjow is right."

Yoruichi's voice came unexpectedly, drawing curious gazes from the other Council elders. Yet the woman paid them no heed. If anything, her eyes brightened knowingly and the sly smirk on her face betrayed her almost callous tone.

Let the records show that she was a woman of her word and regardless of the outcome today; the matriarch had upheld her end of the bargain.

" _Why?_ Why should we believe you, Healer?"

The healer bowed again, shallowly— "You shouldn't."

"Oh?"

Their eyes met. Rukia's smirk was gone in the blink of an eye but Yoruichi- sharp-eyed as ever caught it all the same.

"The ancestors and spirits can speak for themselves."

A loud rumble of thunder came suddenly, making the Elders jump but Rukia stood unflinchingly, her face passive when everyone else seemed perplexed. More so, when a gust of wind blew hard, shaking the flaps of the tent, making them gasp.

The elders' voices rang in alarm, eyebrows furrowed deep as they regarded Rukia suspiciously.

It was scorching but moments ago with the sun unusually bright and harsh on their skin. How was it that merely moments after the healer entered the tent and no sooner had she uttered her words- this change in weather happened?

Was she being truthful?

Hath the spirits truly spoken to her and given her sight? Were they wrong in doubting her?

They turned towards the blue-haired man, anxiously waiting to see his reaction. What now? - Their gazes seem to say. Some of them were in two minds to begin with. The abrupt weather change had only seen to their dismay, adding on to their uncertainty as they huddled and whispered amongst themselves.

Who do they believe in? No— _What_ do they believe in?

Was it worth angering the spirits and ancestors over this pitiful dispute?

Grimmjow stalked angrily towards her, fists clenched and viciously scowling.

"What sort of trickery is this, Healer?"

Rukia shook her head.

"There is no trickery. I told you. I have been granted sight by the spirits and made to deliver the words of the ancestors. They are all-seeing and omnipotent. They have told me that there would be non-believers. If need be, they will speak for themselves and _wash_ away the traces of doubt."

There was a glint of otherworldliness gleaming in her eyes as lightning flashed across the darkened skies, something powerful ringing in her tone of voice as she addressed the occupants of the _bayt;_ the full brunt of her heavy stare on that of Ichigo.

"Come see for yourselves if you still do not believe me."

The elders followed her lead.

Outside, they met more surprised tribesmen- their voices shrilly and alarmed as they instructed their kin and servants to lay out the vats. The glee and wonder in their eyes and tones were palpable. Some of the younger children, tear stained by a mixture of fear and joy wandered out of their _bayts_. Though at first wary of the loud booming thunderclaps, their fear came to pass with the promise of rainfall.

At the third crack of thunder, rain- sweet, _blessed_ rain came pouring forth from the skies.

They were pelted by it, soaked to their underclothes; but none more so than the strange healer woman who was standing some distance apart from them with her arms held out, palms splayed.

The rolling thunder and lightning flashed behind her. Her inky black hair was plastered to her face by the rivulets of water that slithering down her body and then came the furtive whispers- the rumours were true- to a certain extent.

The healer had been Touched by the spirits, marked for a greater purpose for being when their sheikh saved her life. In their generosity and through the strange hands of Fate, the ancestors and spirits have granted her Sight and made her their messenger.

.

Rukia was drenched from head to toe, teeth chattering almost but she willed herself to betray nothing of her discomfort.

There would be no going back after this.

Grimmjow and the others may sneer and taunt, call her names and shun her but she was here to stay. This was her home now- no matter how much she longed for comforts of her old world- lush and leafy, the thrum of magic that breathed and lived under her fingertips- a place where she didn't feel the powerlessness of her situation. She had to thrive or at the very least survive long enough to see Lady Shirayuki's sacrifice justified.

Magic may lie dead and forgotten but her lady's sacrifice held. The rainstorm was one of the many scenes that she had seen in the _sweven_. Her memories of the event distilled and revisited for more times than she would care to remember during the course of the past few days. Every detail of the scene analysed and scrutinized until she could see it happening even as she shut her eyes.

This wasn't cheating per se.

She was simply taught to fight fire with fire.

If Grimmjow could play as a messenger of his Gods then surely she as a seeress and champion for so many moons now would do nothing less than a stellar job.

The wind howled. Rukia's hair whipped furiously, eyes gleaming like amethyst in the low light- something feral, untamed and oh so thrilling behind them. Power curled within her presence.

Ichigo found himself mesmerized, unable to look away as their eyes met.

"The spirits have spoken and the ancestors give their blessings. Long live Sheikh Ichigo!"

Elders shrank back. Their gaze reverently cast on the ground beneath their feet, echoing the healer's chant dutifully.

"Long live Sheikh Ichigo!"

The spirits and ancestors have spoken. The elders weren't foolish enough to stand against such powerful forces. Not even Grimmjow's baleful glares and thinly-veiled death threats or all the riches of the world would sway them to behave otherwise.

.

From some distance away, Yoruichi tilted her head in acknowledgement towards the healer and the two women shared a look.

This was a game well-played and well-matched.

Yoruichi knew she was right to be wary. This healer had tricks up her sleeves that she had not seen coming. If Rukia could indeed call upon the wrath of the spirits- this development was one that would change everything, upsetting the balance that the older woman had worked so hard to achieve.

Even if she would prove herself to be a powerful ally in time, Yoruichi remained doubtful on the amount of trust she could spare.

The matriarch looked to her nephew- a grim look set between her brows, frowning as she noticed the unguarded look of awe upon his face.

She sighed. She had seen it all before. Like father, like son indeed.

This was a tragedy just _waiting_ to happen.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you didn't see that one coming. XD
> 
> Also, there's an 18+ Ichiruki Discord Server now. PM me for the link and please remember to fill in the intros!


	18. Blessed

**.**

"All done!"

Rukia announced with a cheerful chirp as she regarded the patient in front of her.

The wound on his palm was superficial at best, hardly one to even require any dressings to begin with. But the man had been insistent on her dressing it and she had spent the better part of her morning dealing with him; talking him down from his initial hysterics that the wound was on the verge of gangrene, reassuring him that neither amputation nor stitches were needed today.

If only to humour the hypochondriac his wound was dressed and tied neatly with a bow, smeared thick with a layer of green pungent poultice just to err on the side of caution. Her patience was worn thin by his ridiculous demands but it seemed that the end was finally in sight.

The healer plastered on a smile and got to her feet, a firm grip on the man's arm as she led him towards the exit—

"Ahhh, my back!"

He suddenly stopped dead in his track, dropping to his knees dramatically while moaning, his hand clutched to his back.

"Oh, Healer Rukia, I think there's something wrong with my back! The shooting pain just came on suddenly and _ah!_ I think I might need to stay for a little longer in the healer's tent."

Rukia could feel her smile faltering, her eyes twitching in response but her tone remained warm.

"Of course, Master Asano! Here let me help you back onto a cushion— _Ah!_ _S-Spider!"_

Her sudden scream alarmed him as Keigo straightened to his full height, glancing nervously at his surroundings. Goosebumps crawled over his skin as he jumped, absolutely terrified, "W-Where?"

"On your back!"

Words failed to describe the sheer panic in the young man's eyes as he suddenly leaped into the air, frantically clawing at open skin and tearing at his fine clothes, dancing from one foot to another, as his high-pitched screams reverberated through the tent.

"Get it off me! Get it off me! Quick! _Get it off me!_ "

He _hated_ spiders and went nearly mindless from the screeching, clothes nearly in shreds and tatters until Rukia decided to take pity on him.

"Master Asano, you can stop. It's gone now."

The man's eyes flitted to hers- his eyes round with sheer gratitude as he began sniffling, arms open wide as he turned to the healer, intent on showing her his appreciation for her help.

"Oh thank you, Healer Rukia. How can I ever repay you? I m—"

"There's no need for that, Master Asano," replied Rukia as she neatly sidestepped his approaching footsteps, dodging his open arms. Despite her stature, her grip on his arm was iron-clad and no amount of squirming from him would lessen her hold as she began tugging him out of her _bayt._

"But my back—"

"Your back is fine."

She ignored his protests, steadily marching on, forcing him to keep up with her pace.

"Wait— I mean— _Ah, my stomach!_ I must have eaten something bad this morning!"

"All the more reason for you to leave the tent and relieve yourself, Master Asano."

Rukia hardly even batted an eye. And with that firm tone of voice and still smiling face, she herded him out of the healer's _bayt_ and told him- quite pleasantly in fact, "Good bye, Master Asano."

She vehemently added under her breath, "And good riddance!"

.

Glaring at Nanao who was nearly breathless from her giggles, Rukia scowled at her, "Well you're no help."

Nanao shrugged; her attention now back to the task of grinding up the ghaf tree pods, "You needed the practice. How else would you learn to politely but firmly reject your eager _suitors_?"

Rukia could only roll her eyes and sigh in response, "Where did they all come from?"

Keigo- the young Asano scion was annoying but he was hardly the first man whose advances she had to firmly but gently dissuade.

Ever since her open declaration of support for the Sheikh, she had noticed the influx of men queuing up to seek medical help from her. Men her age who were more than likely to have found their pride wounded at having to visit the healer were suddenly falling over themselves, almost breaking out in fist brawls outside her tent to have their wounds and ailments treated. It ranged from simple clean cuts and burns on the skin- dreadful and unfortunate accidents, she was told; to nightly dry coughs and random bellyaches.

Truly Rukia sympathized and treated them to the best of her capabilities. But these incidents were certainly not serious enough to require her near constant care and attention, nor the overdramatic reactions from some of them- acting like they might keel over and die at a moment's notice if she didn't see to them immediately.

This was getting out of hand.

She sighed, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with them. They need to stop wasting their time and mine and let me treat those who really need my help."

Nanao however scoffed. Wryness to her grin as she adjusted her spectacles, chiding, "What did you expect? Yesterday you were Rukia who came from the mountains, title-less and no better than an orphan. Now you're Rukia, messenger to the ancestors and spirits. Stop being obtuse!"

She flicked at her forehead, making Rukia pout in response.

"You'd better get used to the attention! This is just the beginning. You're valuable now. The elders would be blind and stupid to not see the advantages of having you marrying into their immediate families. They'll be sending their second-borns and younger sons after you, asking for a proper courtship soon, mark my words!"

Rukia huffed, turning her attention back to her mashed poultice in the mortar.

"Is there a way to reject all of them?"

The older woman frowned, "Not without offending all the clans and Council elders. Why? Are you against the courtships?"

.

_Because I don't want to drag any more innocent people into this._

_Because I don't want to make up any more lies._

_Because I –_

_._

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm not the only prize here. Look at Orihime! She's the Sheikh's new sister. If there's anyone who's a catch in the tribe right now, it'd be her and she's not in a rush to accept any suitors."

Nanao scoffed, "That's because the Kurosakis want to see her wed to Grimmjow."

Violet eyes widened.

Orihime?

Married to that sadistic man who was more than a little unhinged and bloodthirsty enough to kill his own right hand man in a fit of rage?

"Oh don't look so surprised," chided Nanao, "Did you really think that the Kurosakis would just take in an orphan without having something in mind? None of the clans would ever do a kind thing out of the goodness of their heart, especially the Kurosakis. Their kindness comes at a price and it is more than likely they'll try to use this cousin marriage of sorts to settle the family feud."

Rukia bit at her lower lip, frowning deep, "That's just speculation on your part. Nothing has been announced yet."

The widow conceded.

"True. And for her sake, I hope I'm wrong but I have been around for much longer than you have, Rukia. I know their ways and even if they decided not to go through with the cousin marriage, Sheikh Ichigo is still her clan leader and as such, has the final say in who she marries. Come to think of it maybe you two aren't so different after all."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Rukia. You've just openly declared yourself a messenger to the ancestors and spirits. Whether you like it or not, you have power now— power to make grown men quake in fear and appoint another leader if it suits you. The elders and clan leaders will undoubtedly covet such power. You think Sheikh Ichigo would just let you go and have you marry into one of the families from the opposing faction?"

Unnoticed by Nanao, Rukia's hands were shaking as she transferred the thick paste into a smaller bowl for sieving.

"That much power- no Sheikh would be stupid enough to keep it unchecked. In fact I won't be surprised if Sheikh Ichigo decides to take you as his head wife inste—"

"Juniper berries!"

Rukia interrupted rudely, grabbing a basket as she hastily left her half-sieved poultice. Ignoring Nanao's amused smirk, the healer mumbled on as she made her retreat, "I noticed some trees by the clearing not too far away. I'll be back."

.

Juniper berries were useful.

The crushed berries and flowers tea infusion she was going to make was a tried and true remedy for indigestion and she could even make a jam of sorts from them, blended thick with honey and other herbs to help with colds amongst the tribesmen.

It just conveniently slipped her mind how tall the trees were.

She felt stupid. That much was evident as she glared at the tree- the lowest branch was at least a good foot taller than her and she was kicking herself internally. She couldn't have come up with a more obvious attempt to escape the conversation.

And Nanao- astute, prickly and sharp as a tack Nanao would never let her live it down.

Rukia bit her lips, struggling as she grabbed a fallen branch and valiantly attempted to beat down some low-hanging juniper berries from their perch.

What to make of that man?

Her feelings towards Sheikh Ichigo- the Intended was conflicted to say the least. Her mind and her heart were at odds with each other. He saved her life- once when she was tempted into using Necromancy and he came for her, shielded her even, in the sandstorm.

Rukia was not one to let a life debt go unrepaid. Despite her best attempts at denial, the knowledge that she was using him and his friendship for her own agenda weighed on her. Those were not the teachings she received at the hands of Lady Shirayuki.

Her thoughts were plagued by dilemmas. What was a life debt and guilt when placed next to the fate of millions, the horrors he would wreck if left unchecked?

What good was moral and honour when she couldn't even use it to save the lives of those she hold dear to her heart?

Would Lady Shirayuki begrudge her for her actions, her cowardly measures taken in the name of pragmatism?

She sighed. If there was indeed a solution to the situation at hand, the seeress prayed for divine guidance for she knew naught the answer.

"You make for a strange sight, _Rukia_ , beating at that tree with its own broken branch. Having fun?"

Rukia stiffened, recognizing his voice by the distinctive accent he used when he rolled out her name. Coming from him, it somehow always managed to sound more intimate than it should. She scowled. Their situation was complicated enough as it was. There was no reason to throw in further complications by way of strange emotions.

Feigning calm, she turned towards him and bowed demurely, "Sheikh Ichigo."

Ichigo's frown deepened as he made his way to stand beside her.

"I thought we agreed to be friends, Rukia. You can call me Ichigo, you know?"

Rukia took a step back instinctively. Her guard was up, remembering what Nanao had said about Kurosakis and their ulterior motives. She had already been fooled once before. She would not make the same mistake twice. The last thing she wanted was for the tribesmen to get ideas about her and the Sheikh.

"That wouldn't be proper, my sheikh."

He eyed the empty basket, the defensive stance she took to maintain her distance.

"It's rare to see you alone and not being trailed after your pack of _faithful_ suitors these days. Have you finally grown tired of them?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. Something about his tone rubbed her the wrong way. What's that supposed to mean? She bristled. Did he think that she enjoyed that sort of attention?

Her tone turned sharp as did her glare, "There is no 'we' on the matter, my sheikh."

"I disagree."

He smelled faintly of leatherworks, a hint of perspiration clinging to him but not overtly ripe as he bent down to her eye-level, brown eyes unusually bright with the amber flecks that stood out against the dying sun as their gaze met.

"You are _my_ ally. I haven't forgotten our deal. And also—" he smirked—"we are _friends_ , aren't we? Friends call each other by their first names, no? It's really not that hard, three syllables- _I-Chi-Go._ I am sure you can manage."

.

_Friends?_

.

Rukia scoffed. The term sounded like a mockery coming from him. The situation between them was too complicated to ever warrant such a thing as pure and casual as friendship.

She said instead, "You seem unusually insistent on me calling you by your given name."

"And you seem equally insistent in doing otherwise. Why is that?"

Rukia fought the urge to roll her eyes. She had told him repeatedly why. He may be physically well, she thought- his hearing, memory or even mental capacity however needed medical attention.

"It wouldn't be proper, my sheikh."

Ichigo took another step towards her, a teasing smirk on his lips. "And you would know all about being proper, wouldn't you, _Rukia_?"

She snapped. " **We** are not so close as to address each other so intimately, Sheikh Ichigo."

"Oh so there's a _we_ now?"

His eyes were honey-hued warmth, a sliver of something dangerously seductive in his tone as he teased, "make up your mind, Rukia."

Her face coloured. He was behaving childishly and deliberately twisting her words!

She huffed. She would not stand there to be made a fool out of for a moment longer. She stomped away without another word, leaving a still-smirking Sheikh and her empty basket behind.

.

.

.

Ichigo watched her rapidly disappearing figure, faint amusement still lining the corners of his mouth. She was too much fun to rile up.

Still, perhaps he shouldn't make it a habit to do so. He wouldn't want to risk alienating an ally. After the latter's 'performance' in the rain that day the healer was someone he wanted to have on his side. He had not forgotten his promise to his aunt of course but he was confident that with time, he would win the healer's allegiance **and** loyalty. He was sure and confident in what he was after.

The sheer bravado, the willpower— the cunningness of Rukia's plan, Ichigo wanted to know every bit of it, every bit of the secrets she kept hidden within the depth of her dark eyes.

He would have to make amends some other way then. His gaze dropped to the empty basket and his lips curved. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

"Kon!"

The boy's head snapped up to attention at the mention of his name. Half-hidden in the overgrown shrubs, his presence was almost missed were it not for his bright hair. He trailed after his sheikh like a shadow, brushing up on his swordsman skill and stealth lessons in between running errands for the man. His sheikh need only to ask him to jump and he would ask how high.

"Yes, my sheikh?"

Ichigo's smile was almost boyish for a change, an uncharacteristic hint of mischief in his eyes as he hoisted the empty basket and asked, "How good are you at climbing trees?"

.

By the time they were done, there was a notable difference in the weight of basket. Juniper berries piled high like a tiny mountain of blue-purple beads and Kon looked to his sheikh with renewed admiration.

His arms were straining from the weight despite the little distance he managed to make with it but Ichigo hadn't so much as grunted as he picked up the laden basket. His pace was brisk, making Kon break into a run in a bid to catch up.

When they were both about thirty paces away from the healer's tent though, the man suddenly stopped. Ichigo's gaze hardened, fists clenching. His good mood evaporated like dew drops in the afternoon sun as he focused on the scene before him.

There was a queue of men lined up outside the healer's tent, pushing and shoving at each other until the widow Nanao emerged. Her glare was stern and under it, the men shuffled into place, grumbling and still bickering amongst themselves but a resemblance of order was put into place.

An ugly emotion- foreign for the most part clawed at him. He told himself that he had no reason to feel this way.

Certainly not over _her._

Sure, he liked the colour of her eyes, was amused even by her penchant of answering his quips with her own jabs. The mysteries surrounding her past and abilities, the way she stood unafraid, the whispers of unearthly power that radiated from her that day in the rain.

He was intrigued and curious— that was all there was to it.

Ichigo bit his tongue. This was beyond ridiculous. As the most powerful man of the tribe, why should he feel annoyed at the scene? There was no need to feel jealou—

He froze, suddenly angry at himself.

He wasn't, damn it!

Kon crept up, following the Sheikh's line of vision and frowned in puzzlement. He didn't understand what had happened. There was no reason for his sheikh to stop dead in his tracks so suddenly.

"Sheikh Ichigo?" he called out tentatively.

The man turned on his heel, pushing the heavy basket into Kon's arms who visibly faltered under the new weight.

"Give this to Healer Rukia. Tell her the Sheikh sends his regards. Also—" Ichigo suddenly stilled, the ferocity of his scowl grim and dark enough to curdle fresh milk and Kon gulped in response.

"Y-Yes?"

"Send word to the men queuing outside Rukia's tent. Tell them that the healer is under **my** protection. They will make themselves scarce if they know what's good for them."

Something feral seeped into his tone, feelings of equal parts possessiveness and protectiveness overriding his good senses.

"Their sheikh commands it!"

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get the ball rolling for IR development in this story.


	19. Spellbound

**.**

It was getting out of hand- this _compulsion_ of his.

Ichigo was not a superstitious man by nature.

As a man in a position of power, he was brought up to know things. To know that the black and the white needed to coexist for peace, to know that change was the only constancy in life, to know that 'magic' was a term coined to disguise a sleight of hand- clever bits of manipulation and manoeuvring by the people in charge.

All that he knew, just as he knew that Rukia- despite her curious blend of sharp wit and brazenness, was no messenger of the ancestors or spirits.

But in every rumour there may yet be a grain of truth hidden.

He was beginning to think that maybe some parts of the rumours circulating amongst the tribesmen was true— that magic was real and the healer had laid a curse onto those who would dare to pry at her secrets. The deeper they dug at her secrets, the deeper they fell- wanting to know more and eventually it drove them mad.

He was cursed and the spell had latched on to him, slowly eating away at his sanity. It made him restless, acting very much out of character.

Ichigo knew as Sheikh what the role demanded of him. He was to be the voice of reason, a charismatic leader and protective brother; a man of caliber. The tribesmen trusted him to keep them safe and respected him.

He couldn't be that voice of reason- calm and unaffected, when _she_ was involved. He was protective of her; he recognised that much at least. Rukia had power and he disliked the idea of other clans coveting her power for their own gains.

Or so he kept telling himself. He refused to think of his compulsion as anything more than a pragmatic stance on consolidating his own power.

But then one maybe two weeks after the juniper berries incident, he started dreaming about her.

Naked body, slick wet heat, the spread of fire from her fingertips. It was not the sort of dreams he would voluntarily divulge or share.

Her smile was beguiling and her eyes, smoky with a come-hither gleam. In those dreams, she tasted like the richness of aged wine, heady- velvet smooth as the sharpness of summer berries was culled by honey-like sweetness and when her warmth coiled and gripped at his length, from the depths of his heart— even in the realm of barely there consciousness—

Ichigo gulped, mouth suddenly dry.

He had to break the spell because getting distracted was dangerous.

Rukia was his ally, not the muse of his nightly fantasies. It was as Yoruichi had cautioned him. The woman was dangerous if given full reins and certainly not someone he should allow to hold sway over him.

Ichigo's means for understanding that of the supernatural were limited, curses even more so but he knew enough. It was believed that if one heard their given name coming from the lips of the spell caster, the enchantment would be lifted.

It was his last resort.

Coinciding almost with his earlier attempts to foster a friendship between him and the healer, Ichigo clenched his jaw- grim determination setting into his features as he set about trying to get Rukia to address him without referring to his title.

The question was _how?_

How would he be able to convince Rukia- a stickler for rule and propriety _only_ when it suited her- to do what _**he**_ wanted?

.

"My humblest apologies, my sheikh. But is it true that you have threatened tribal members with exile if they so much as _look_ at Healer Rukia?"

Ichigo scowled, annoyed.

"I wasn't aware we have a meeting scheduled."

Urahara shrugged, "it's your aunt's idea. Consider yourself lucky that I managed to convince her that it was better to send me over, rather than having her come in person to convey her _displeasure_ at your actions. Now let us drink tea and talk."

This was _exactly_ why he needed the curse broken. He was not himself and should never have said what he said. He had overreacted or maybe Kon had miscommunicated his intentions. Regardless, rumours have a way of twisting his words against him. And now even Urahara- his godfather/uncle, the undisputed eccentric of the tribe had been sent over to talk _sense_ into him.

"Tell my aunt that her concern is unnecessary. I am fine! And I didn't threaten anyone."

Urahara plopped on to the seat opposite the young sheikh rather gracelessly and quipped, "Jealousy is not a good look on a man. Neither is denial for that matter."

"I am neither of those things. You are wrong on both accounts. I would never threaten to do something so reckless and foolhardy."

His uncle helped himself to the tea, offering a sympathetic pat to Ichigo's shoulder.

"There is no shame. Love makes a fool of us all. I still remember the time when I offered your aunt a Saluki puppy as a courting gift. Of course it wasn't until much later that I learnt that she doesn't even like pupp—"

Ichigo shot up abruptly, colours rising to his cheeks. Who said anything about l-lov- _that_ thing?

"The healer is resourceful and more than capable at her job but she is not- I do not have feelings for her," he hissed sharply.

" _Of course_ ," Urahara offered him a knowing smirk, as if he was only humouring him and it irked Ichigo immensely.

"It's true!"

"As true as the Sun sets in the west and rises from the east, my sheikh."

Amber eyes narrowed. "Stop mocking me!"

Urahara gave a dramatic gasp, "my sheikh, I would never! I came with only the best of intentions. It is a manly rite of passage I think, to experience the awkwardness of first love. _Ah_ the emotions- the hidden angst, the _yearning_ — _"_

Ichigo fumed and spluttered, rudely interrupting his uncle's theatrics. "There is no yearning! I told you I do not have these _feelings_ for the healer. While I do want her to call me by my given name, the matter at hand is … _different_."

The older man paused then gave him a blank stare. "Different how?"

Ichigo felt almost sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. "I think she cursed me. If I can get her to call me by my given name, then maybe I can break the spell."

"Tell me more," Urahara's eyebrows furrowed as he leaned in.

Sighing deeply, the Sheikh proceeded to divulge his story; how mystified he was by the healer, his initial attempts to befriend her to no avail. The theory of how the curse came into effect and how he thought that by having her address him by the given name, his distress at hand would vanish.

Barring his very private dreams, he told Urahara exactly how he had set about with his task and his current frustration over the matter.

He should have known if he were looking for sympathy, he had better luck stumbling upon it with a Saluki hound. Truly his uncle and aunt made such a fine pair- it was true what they said about how birds of the same feather tended to flock together, the two were equally dramatic and every bit as heartless as the other.

He snarled at the sight of Urahara, doubling over with laughter, tears forming in his eyes.

Spirits take him!

Urahara was nearly breathless from laughing.

His godson was deplorable- a simpleton even; to put such faith in baseless old wives' tales and his lack of grasp on his own feelings when it is known that the poor boy was besotted by the healer.

Ultimately, he stopped. With as much composure as he could muster, he turned to face Ichigo, who was scowling viciously and obviously displeased at being an object of ridicule.

He gave a sly grin, the conspiratorial gleam hidden somewhat by his hat.

"And that is all you would require to break her spell? You wish only to hear her address you by your given name?"

When Ichigo nodded, he added, "Take it from someone who knows. It would take more than the sound of your name from her lips to break the spell. Ichigo, it's not as spell at all, but—"

"There is no but," Ichigo snapped, "I only need her to call me by my given name. Everything else is irrelevant."

Stubbornness and youth seemed to go hand in hand, Urahara observed. Oh to be young and foolish. He bit his tongue and said instead, "Have you considered bribery?"

"Bribery?"

"Yes," Urahara drawled, smiling, "Bribery, a gift; something to make her cooperate."

Enlightenment dawned. Ichigo realized with a start. He had been so blind. The solution was so simple to begin with.

He should have known.

Subtlety had never been his strongest suit and with Rukia, the healer; it was often a battle of wills. He had seen the way she fights- the simplicity and agility of her movements; watched her from the shadows when she practiced with her sword. The movement she made- her quick footwork, an intricate sequence of a dance known only to her. Like water- all fluid-like and graceful but also like a viper, the sting and parry of it precise and deadly, wielding her weapon like it was merely an extension of her arm.

Like her, he should have played it to his strength- brute force and clean cuts.

In a fight, he went for the jugular. One could say there is a lack of finesse in his movement but he snorted. There is no need for finesse when brute force and a clean slash would do the trick. He was in a habit of finishing his kill without toying with it.

Clearly the same steps should be taken in his endeavour to win against the woman's stubbornness.

And, he had just the right gift in mind.

Ichigo smiled. Half the battle was already won, clearly in his favour.

Clambering up from the carpet, he was already making his way outside the tent when Urahara called out to offer him the last word of caution.

"Spells pertaining to the matters of the heart are not cast with a solution in mind, my sheikh. The consequences of your actions may not go as you have planned."

But Ichigo had brushed off the advice. As far as he was concerned, the minute the healer agrees to address him by his name, he was a free man, no longer plagued by her voice, her shadow and the near obsessive compulsion to keep her in his line of sight.

.

.

Alone in the _bayt,_ Urahara realized belatedly what he had done. On the matter of the healer woman, he and his wife had vastly different opinions.

" _Yare yare_ , Yoruichi is not going to be pleased with me now."

But ignorance was bliss. What his wife didn't know wouldn't hurt her, the blonde shrugged carelessly as he made his way back to his own _bayt._

For now, he was perfectly content to let what happened stay as a secret between his sheikh and himself.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Rukia! And here we have a Strawberry in denial and his godfather trying to set him straight. Urahara is the #1 IR shipper. xD
> 
> Sorry for the short-ish chapter, but the next one is going to be better. I promise. UwU


	20. A Ripple of White

**.**

Ichigo found her among bushes and trees, alone; a half-filled basket of herbs and ghaf tree fruits hanging from her arm.

Behind her, violet hues mingled with the bright streaks of red, blue, yellow in the sky to form a canvas for the setting sun that was steadily sinking under the horizon, its glorious light fading only to return the morning after; just as bright and glaring as before. The dying day made her eyes paler, dressing them in a lighter hue of lavender with her chin-length hair fluttering in the desert wind.

She stilled when she saw his approach, but only for a moment before she inclined her head and bowed.

"Sheikh Ichigo."

Ah, he bit his tongue. Patience, he reminded himself- soon, this would all be over soon. He had the perfect plan in place for this.

"Rukia," he called out, "we talked about this. It's Ichigo to you. Friends call each other without their titles."

The woman heaved a sigh but said nothing. Ichigo's smirk was teasing in response.

"That's strange, Rukia. No lecture coming from you today about what is proper and what isn't?"

"I have learned not to waste my breath, my sheikh," she replied dryly, "You'll never listen anyway."

Ichigo moved to close the distance between them, his eyes glimmering soft amber, "You know me well. Your basket looks heavy. Let me help you with that."

She raised her gaze to meet his. Her retort and refusal was at the tip of her tongue but to see the way the dying sun gilded and adorned him in sheaves of bronze and gold, how it rendered the outline of his features sharp and beautiful—

Rukia gulped, swallowing her words whole. She was only human after all and would begrudgingly admit that she had been caught off guard. Her sheikh was a beautiful man- roguishly charming even when he wasn't so set on being a pain in the neck to her.

"That will not be necessary," she shifted her gaze and kept her head down. With the basket at hand, she meant to walk past him.

"I insist."

When a warm hand suddenly shot out and tugged at her forearm, the healer had been genuinely surprised. Years of honed instincts made her drop her basket and reach for her blade by the side.

Her grasping hand however, met empty air and she had to remember once again that she was no longer Rukia the seeress; here, she was Rukia the healer and healers did not carry swords.

By then however, the basket had fallen, its contents - the herbs and ghaf tree fruits went tumbling out from it and Rukia was not pleased. She threw him a scathing glare, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as she bent down to retrieve the fallen fruits.

"As wonderfully kind as your gesture is, my sheikh," she pursed her lips, "I think I'll be fine without your _help_."

Ichigo bit the inside of his cheek, holding his tongue. Ignoring her wishes though, he bent low, mimicking her actions, picking up the fallen fruits one at a time. When the last of the fruits was collected and safely deposited in the basket, he made his move.

"Let me make it up to you," he said.

But Rukia shook her head. "That won't be necessary. You've helped me pick up the fruits. That is repayment enough."

Ichigo panicked. For this to work, she had to follow him.

"B-But I have a gift for you!"

"A gift?"

What had she done to deserve a boon?

She hesitated. Knowing the nature of the Intended, could anyone blame her if she admitted to feeling anxious at the thought?

Besides, there were already rumours that the Sheikh was interested in her- romantically and went so far as to threaten her suitors with exile in a fit of jealousy. Rukia knew better than to believe in them of course. It was more than likely that whatever interest Sheikh Ichigo had showed in her was professional- motivated for his need to consolidate power than anything else.

But that didn't mean that she should be ignorant about the rumours. The last thing she needed was to feed the tribesmen's' wild imagination. Nanao for one, would never let her live it down.

Ichigo didn't like the cautious, almost pensive look in her eyes.

"I promise that there's nothing untoward in this," the words left his mouth in a tumble; "I want to show you something as a show of good faith to honour our pact as allies. I look forward to having you as a member of the Council."

Moments passed in eerie silence until finally—

Rukia's curiosity won out.

"Lead the way."

.

In hindsight, maybe she shouldn't have said yes after all.

"Aren't you going to give me a hint?" she huffed, a little red in the face. His stride was long and she struggled to keep up.

He whirled around.

"It's a surprise," he told her cryptically. If he took slower steps after observing how Rukia was lagging behind, neither commented on it but the healer soon fell into step easily beside him and the pair made their way ahead in silence.

"We're here."

Rukia turned around, observing the surroundings with a slight frown. Surprisingly, he had brought her to a patch of dry sand near his tent.

"Wha—"

She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth gaping as her attention was caught by the sight of a lone white filly tied to a tree.

Ignoring Ichigo, she moved towards the animal of her own accord. The horse whinnied and hesitantly, Rukia reached out to slide her fingers through the horse's mane.

Grey with a lone mark of white decorating its forehead, its mane was of finely spun silver, a dimmer shade than what Rukia remembered of Lady Shirayuki's hair but every bit as lovely. Her big brown eyes shone with intelligence and warmth.

Rukia had to blink away her tears. The filly reminded her so much of her past, back when she still had magic and a home. Lady Shirayuki and the world she once knew was now gone and memories were all she had left.

Without even thinking about it, she had threaded her arms around the neck of the horse and hugged it fiercely against her chest. Its presence was a comfortable reprieve from loneliness.

Ichigo politely coughed and immediately the healer turned to face him. Rukia thought that she must have been a hideous sight then with her red nose and puffy eyes, but Ichigo had offered her a kind smile and for that, she graced him with hers.

Her smile was dazzling and he thought that he had never seen a more poignant sight. The normally aloof and collected woman had cast aside her defences, letting her tears fall. Maybe behind the facade of her sharp tongue and bravado, there was no witch— just a lonely and home-sick woman, heart-breakingly lovely in her flaws and struggles.

He wanted to wipe her tears away but the meeting between woman and horse had seemed so personal and intimate that he was wary of intruding.

"She is beautiful, is she not?" he whispered instead.

Rukia laughed and bobbed her head. "She is indeed. She reminds me of my homeland."

"What is her name?" he asked, mindful of the volume in his tone and his eyes never once straying from her.

Rukia replied in a lilting tone, her happiness evident, "Hakuren." She wiped her tears with the back of her palm and sniffed.

"She is a ripple of dazzling white."

"Would you like to mount her?" he offered and when she nodded in consent, had stepped forward, placing two large hands firmly on her waist. He lifted her and set her on the saddle.

Flashing the man her grateful smile, the healer grabbed hold of the reins and slipped her dainty feet into the stirrups.

Her silver-grey filly had responded to the gentle touch of her knee and trotted in a fine gait. Not unlike her mistress, the horse was the image of fluidity. Both rider and horse were beautiful dancers; their movements lithe and inspiring.

Before he knew it, the horse began galloping, its hooves beating against the shifting sand as her rider sent her on her path.

Like its namesake, it was swift and silent, a stark grey-white blur against the bleeding sky of orange and red and golden sands, swift as the wind and its movement fluid like water.

Riding astride her gentle companion, Rukia had let loose the most euphonious trill of silver laughter he had ever heard. The delightful smile on her face lit up her features, accentuating the shine in her beautiful eyes.

When she finally came to a stop before him, her face was pink and her breathing heaved from the exercise. Her hair was mussed and tousled but her eyes were alive with mirth; she painted the very picture of radiance.

He bit his tongue.

"I-I-Is she really a gift?" she asked tentatively, scarcely daring to even dream of owning such a magnificent creature.

"Yes."

Her smile widened.

"But on one condition."

Rukia had tilted her head to the side, looking at him with unfathomable eyes; as if she was trying to gauge his motives. When she did agree and told him to name his price, he noted the loss of her smile with much sadness.

She did not trust him.

It was good and as it should be- no allies stay allies forever, and the healer was right to be wary but for some entirely laughable and unimaginable reason, his heart lurched almost painfully.

He shook his head clear of the strange thoughts. Those were matters best settled on another day. He licked his suddenly dry lips.

"You have to address me as Ichigo. Not Sheikh Ichigo, not my sheikh, just **Ichigo** ," he said firmly.

The healer's brows furrowed at the strange request. Clearly, he was the one getting the shorter end out of this bargain; but the look in his determined eyes was one that held no room for arguments and if it was anything that the man was notorious for, Rukia knew it to be his pigheadedness.

Besides, it would have been rude to refuse a gift as beautiful as her Hakuren.

With a new shine in her eyes, she had accepted his kind offer with a true smile of her own and told him, "You have given me the wind, _Ichigo_."

" _Thank you."_

And with that, she led her new companion away towards her tent, spurring the fast-running creature into a gallop. The two ran beneath the open sky, kicking up sand as they did, but the land held no claim on them for they were flying without wings.

.

The man had stayed still, not shifting by the inches and only when the sight of woman and horse had finally melted from his line of vision; only then did he begin to breathe.

By then, night had come. Oil lamps were lit by families against the backdrop of the darkening sky, the heat of the fire, the aroma of food and calls for dinner rose; a pleasant din to ward off the silence of the approaching night.

The lone crescent of a moon was already up and twinkling stars dotted the sky.

Clutching his beating heart, of three things the Sheikh knew as absolute from his interaction with the healer that evening.

One, the woman was breathtakingly beautiful when she smiled; Two, he now had the image of her riding and laughing, permanently etched upon his memory, the bewitching trill lingering like a song in the wind and lastly, having her luscious lips and pink tongue curling to form the syllables to his name had not broken the spell at all.

Truth be told, it had merely made it all the more _harder_ to resist the tug in his heart. Urahara's words rang and echoed.

.

_Spells pertaining to the matters of the heart are oftimes cast without a solution in mind. The consequences of your actions may not go as you have planned._

_._

_Fuck!_

.

.

"My sheikh!"

A sharp hiss and equally distracting jab from his aunt shook him from his reverie.

He snapped back into reality, back into the room full of incense burning, carefully noting the curious gazes from his Council that betrayed their feigned submissiveness and loyalty. Vultures, he grimaced, the lot of them. No better than old mothers with their appetite for gossip and their lust for power knew no bounds.

Rukia still knelt in front of him; hands folded on her lap and eyes downcast.

The weight of the wooden staff- passed down from Kurosaki men since generations ago, had never felt so heavy in his grasp. Ichigo knew that he needed to make his decision. He needed an ally. Rukia was his ally and she would carve a name for herself in time, occupy the empty space that was left behind by the Elder Kasumioji well and take up the role as the Sheikh's supporter.

She was resourceful; she would survive however many schemes and plots the Elders threw her way.

She would be—

Ah, he chided himself, what was he doing and why now? This was no time to be second-guessing himself, to play the part of the bleeding hero. He couldn't save everyone. He had made peace with that a long time ago. They all have their own parts to play.

The healer _chose_ this. She had seen how dirty and messy this game of politics could turn out to be and she had chosen to play along anyway.

What right has he got to worry for her?

She was nothing to him. He had enough on his plate. The consequences of any distraction would be dire and he certainly could not afford any. For the twins' sake, there was no room left for another in his heart.

Yet his heart— stupid, foolish and reckless beyond measure would listen to no one.

It wanted her.

.

Ichigo cleared his throat loudly. Striking the staff upon the sands three times- each strike a mark of his absolute power, his authority over his tribesmen and the finality of his decision echoed.

"The ancestors and spirits have spoken. You will heed their counsel and serve them well. Deliver their words of sound advice and wisdom as you take on your responsibilities in this Council."

Her eyes were like twin pools of ice, calm and unfathomable. Her icy ridges held secrets, deep enough to drown in; but his stare was fire- molten heat that consumed all. When their eyes met, the spark was lit- amidst hissing steam and clouds of vapour, neither would yield.

"Take your place among the Council with my blessing, Healer Rukia."

And they both knew. There would be no turning back from this.

.

.

Orihime clenched her fists. Standing some distance away, she was the silent observer to the sudden stillness of her sheikh before he struck the ground with his staff and announced his verdict.

He hesitated. She saw the way he was looking at the healer and hadn't missed the way the other woman had returned his gaze openly.

Such insolence!

Orihime shot the woman a glare, gritting her teeth hard before she even realized what she was doing.

No, stop! This was not how she should behave.

She was horrified. What was she doing?

She was a good person. A good person would never have such negative feelings like jealousy. She quickly unclenched her fists, plastering her smile and nodded to something Karin was telling her about before anyone else would notice something amiss.

Why should she be jealous of a witch?

It was clear to see what was going on here. The healer had enslaved Ichigo using some spellwork or dark arts. She wouldn't be the first but like Rurichiyo, she won't get away with it.

For love, the purest and most selfless kind that she would devote her life into preserving, Orihime would do it all for Ichigo. She would be useful to him and protect him, even from afar if need be.

Be it witches or scheming heiresses, none shall stand when put to the test against the sincerity and all-encompassing nature of her love. Her love bled true. Of that there would be no doubt.

Orihime stood on the path of righteousness and she knew what she had to do. She vowed to get to the bottom of this and expose the woman for the craven creature that she was.

She would save her Ichigo!

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Hime! Some people don't want to be saved. You need to accept that.


	21. Red and Gold

.

It was known that the true worth of a desert man's wealth and treasures was not those of the monetary kind. True wealth did not chink or glitter, yet it gleamed just as brightly in the sun and neighed in the night as an ageless spirit of the realm.

The earth had nurtured its love for freedom, the fluidity of its movements molded to perfection by water, fire was imbued within the very essence of the magnificent beast and the wind provided sustenance to its spectral form.

The Drinker of the Wind ran as free as a swift stream, soaring without wings across the plains.

True to his name and ancestral origins, a stallion was born to be reckless. Like a storm, he was a flurry of movement. Wild and spirited, he ran and neighed as much as he pleased; too wild a beast to ever be content under the rule of his human master.

The mare however, was his perfectly docile counterpart.

She was beautiful and loyal, intelligent and steadfast, elegant but hardy; a wonderful companion and precious commodity in a valley of harsh sun and vicious sand storms- the perfect human companion ever to grace the world and the prized mount in a herd.

Men simply did not part with these splendid creatures willingly in life. Oftimes when a change in hand of ownership occurred, a blood payment was exacted. In return for the loyalty and the unfailing love the horse had shown for her master, her master had rewarded her with unwavering devotion and the will to fight for her honour.

A pure-breed _Asil_ battle mare was worth more than her weight in gold and there was simply no greater gift to be bestowed upon one than her.

.

Had Rukia been aware of the true worth of such a magnificent creature and what her acceptance of Ichigo's gift would entail, she would have gladly declined the offer and then proceeded to grace him with a swift kick to the shins for even _thinking_ of putting her at such an awkward position.

Ichigo's actions were impulsive and with his latest bout of spontaneity, catapulted her into becoming the victim at the receiving end of this thoughtlessness.

She snorted. A show of good faith, he called it.

Lies!

He presented her with a gift that was so infinitely valuable that instead of it being viewed as a simple offering to honour the alliance; it had turned into the unthinkable- a courting gift!

.

"Rukia Kurosaki has a very nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Rukia rolled her eyes, groaning; barely looking up from the paste she was mixing.

"Karin, not you too!"

The girl gave a shrug. She was regular visitor to the healer's _bayt_. For one thing, her penchant for climbing trees and horse-riding meant that her palms were frequently in need of poultice and salve. Most people would have made some remark by now about how she ought to behave more ladylike in a way that befitted her station, less concerned about her injuries than they were about her bringing shame upon her family for her hobbies and interests that bordered on being manly.

Rukia hadn't even so much as batted an eye when she first approached her with her scratched palms with sand-stained clothing. Her admonishments were sound, exasperated perhaps about the state of her cuts and how she should be more careful but never once had she commented on Karin's non-conformity to social expectations.

Close as she was to her twin, there were some things that even Yuzu could not understand; and while the healer hadn't either, she had neither pried nor judged. All in all, Karin wouldn't be opposed to it if the rumours were somehow true and her sheikh brother did end up taking the healer as wife.

"Can you blame me though?" Karin gave an impish grin, "You know what the tribesmen are saying."

"Don't remind me," muttered Rukia.

The gossip had quickly escalated from the romantic tale that had begun originally with the insufferable man professing his undying love for her, the backdrop of a setting sun behind them and the beautiful horse, a witness to their love.

By midday, a lover's vow had taken place and without her knowledge (or consent for that matter), Rukia had agreed to his proposal of _marriage_.

She gritted her teeth and bore the humiliation of it all, hoping that when it became evident that no wedding announcements would be made any time soon, the outrageous rumours would die down. To her dismay, the tales have only gotten more far-fetched than before.

It had eventually come to a point where her temper and tolerance had reached its limit and the healer was compelled to break her silence.

By then however, it was far too late; the rumours have evolved into a monster with a mind and will of its own. Her denials were met with amused smile, patronizing looks and she soon gave up on explaining herself.

What was the point in doing so when no one would listen?

The tribe had such strong faith in the rumours that her confession of the truth was ignored and viewed as nothing better than excuses.

Rukia hated being the center of attention and the talk of the tribe.

The sly comments, a few jealous glares sent her way and the constant feeling of being scrutinized had reduced Rukia to a hermit; only venturing outside the safety of her sanctuary when it was necessary and only interacting with the tribe members if such a meeting was unavoidable.

This was all Ichigo's fault!

He's just too brash, so self-centered and—

.

Rukia set the blend of poultice she was mixing back onto her work bench. She needed to clear her thoughts and remain calm. She still had a patient to tend to.

"Have you washed your hands clean?"

Karin blinked owlishly, surprised. She nodded and held out her palms; only to wince as Rukia mercilessly applied a generous layer of the foul-smelling paste directly on the gashes.

Dark grey eyes watered. The healer did not admonish her when Karin started cursing but instead reached for thin strips of dressings.

"Make sure you steer clear from other reckless activities until your wounds are healed," she warned as she wrapped and dressed the palms, "You need to pay less attention to the gossips and take better care of yourself."

"I will."

Rukia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. No more than a fortnight from now, she'd show up with fresh cuts and bruises. The healer had gotten used to it by now and she knew Karin probably had every intention of honouring her promise— at least until someone challenged her to another tree-climbing or horse-riding contest and she felt honour-bound to defend her title.

Before she could say anything else though, the pair was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the Sheikh.

.

"Rukia!"

He entered her quarters unannounced and upon entry Rukia was made strangely speechless by the intensity of his gaze. The way his eyes burned her and the longer she held his stare, the harder it seemed to look away.

Speak of the devil indeed.

"Sheikh Ichigo, I was not expecting you," Rukia bowed low. She pointedly shifted her eyes, trying to hide her flaring cheeks. The _bayt_ was suffocating in his presence.

"That was rude," said Karin, pursing her lips.

Ichigo spared her a withering glance at that and when he saw the bandages, the scowl deepened. Karin on the other hand, merely narrowed her eyes at her brother.

There was something different about him- a sense of nervousness to him in the stiff lock of his jaw and his clenched fists. For a man who prided himself on his alertness to the surroundings, her brother didn't even notice her presence until prompted and if anything else seemed only to have eyes for the other woman.

"Return to the _bayt_ , Karin."

Karin was about to protest when he barked a venomous "Now!" and sent her on her way; stomping and glaring as she did.

The minute he was certain his sister was out of the tent, Ichigo turned towards Rukia, closing the distance towards them until she could see the amber flecks in his eyes gleaming at her.

"I thought we had an agreement," his voice was soft and deceptively calm.

"Forgive me, my sheikh. But it does seem somewhat scandalous to address you in any manner other than proper in light of the recent gossips floating about the tribe. Rumours and gossips, that you did not put a stop to," she snarled, suddenly remembering that she was angry at him. She raised her gaze to meet his, daring him to deny her accusation.

The most recent piece of rumour that she had the misfortune of overhearing as a gaggle of young girls passed by her tent almost had her in tears, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

It was said that the besotted Sheikh was so inexplicably smitten by her, he had insisted upon gifting her with the horse as a **betrothal** gift! And the only reason why she hadn't been able to accept it was because she was shouldering a deadly past of a sort.

The nature of her deadly past varied significantly, but among them, the most popular version of the tale spoke of her being an illegitimate princess on the run from her captors; ridiculous, she thought. And another of her being cursed, misfortune and death destined to befall her husband should she marry.

The absurdity of it all was enough to make her blush.

.

Ichigo was the first one to pull away.

"I came with a solution in mind," he said.

"Yes?"

"Marry me."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Marry you?" she asked incredulously; only to see the man before her nod.

Her disbelief rendered her mute and shock overwhelmed her. Thankfully, as the trickle of boiling rage flowed steadily through her system; the shock passed.

Now, Rukia was positively seething. The gall of him!

Anger flashed in her eyes. "Instead of clearing up those unwanted rumours circulating about the villagers, you have the audacity to propose marriage?!"

The young Sheikh frowned. She could easily tell that this was not the reaction he had in mind for her, but she would sooner rot away in death and decay than oblige to his sham of a proposal.

So, resolutely she stood her ground, daring him to do his worst. She would meet him blow for blow and she was not above drawing blood in this particular confrontation.

"How can you not see that I am merely trying to help? I am trying to protect your reput—"

"I do not _need_ your help," she hissed, "Nor do I want your protection, for I have little need of them from a cowardly man who could not even take his stance against rumours."

The Sheikh gritted his teeth, hoping to retain his civility. He did not want to fight her. Nevertheless, his glare turned icy.

"You are a fool," he replied, "for believing that a single man has the might to silence a thousand tongues. Rumours have a mind of their own."

Her temper flared at the insult. Snidely, she remarked, "I see only a pot calling a kettle black and said pot standing in the place of a man."

Spirits take her!

This woman was entirely impossible.

"I am trying to salvage the last vestiges of our brittle honour, _Healer_ ," he growled.

"Well maybe, you should try harder," she snipped testily, "Seeing as to how your best attempts have done absolutely nothing to help."

.

He could feel the control on his temper snapping. In his opinion, all this commotion and embarrassment was entirely avoidable had she voiced her outrage when the rumours were just barely starting.

Yet now, she dared accuse him of doing nothing to stop the rumours.

It was beyond ridiculous!

"Do not test my patience," he warned; tawny flecks flashing in his eyes. To which Rukia had merely scoffed and snorted. Personally, Ichigo could not tell to this day what triggered his ire and frustration more- her blatant disrespect or her thrice-be-damned stubbornness.

"Marry me," he said it again, but with more force behind the demand this time.

"No."

Rukia turned her back to conversation between them was over.

Yoruichi couldn't possibly have known that this would happen. There was no way—

He's the Intended- the Sheikh of this tribe, devious and full of ambitions. There was no way he would ever be interested in pursuing something so trivial and ridiculous as a romantic interest in her. Not when he had so many things in mind- the war campaign he was leading against the Espadas, the careful balance of power among elders in the Council.

He would gain nothing by marrying her and she was much more valuable to him as a member of Council- as his ally than she would ever be as a head wife. To be a matriarch of a tribe she wasn't even born into, Rukia chided herself- she was no fool. She hadn't forgotten who she was.

She's the seeress. She's the woman who came from beyond the mountains.

She swore a blood oath.

.

"Over my cold dead body, Ichigo."

Her words- the ferocity behind them unnerved him. He sighed, apparently exasperated by the turn of events before addressing her in a tone that bordered on weariness.

"Rukia, open up your eyes and see sense, please. This is for the best."

"Whose best, Ichigo? Mine or yours?"

Ichigo's heart skipped a beat. No one must know of his senseless infatuation. He feigned ignorance.

"What do you mean?"

"Your conscience," she said. He silently breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his secret remained safe from her knowledge.

"Does it help you to sleep better at night knowing that you had done the 'right' thing by marrying a woman who was being _slandered_ publically?"

He fought the urge to snort. The woman had no idea of the restraint and self-discipline he had imposed upon himself to not do the 'right' thing.

She did not know how much he wanted to touch her in all the 'right' places the 'right' way; to lick and feel every inch of her pale skin and watch her melt into a puddle under him, to comb through her glossy hair and find out if they were truly as smooth as they look, to pleasure her every senses and witness her unravelling.

.

_Mine._

.

He was plagued by his nightly fantasies, where she was both his angel of salvation and his personal demon.

Her lithe body would somehow emerge naked and unbidden in his dreams, her lips so alluringly red and her eyes, twin swirls of amethyst and violet would paralyze him until the room spun and he was suddenly out of breath; laden with too much lust and want to be rational.

In his dreams, she would always be his for the taking. Arching her back so taut and tense that it was on the verge of snapping, his name a fervent whisper on her ravaged lips as he rutted into her viciously and ruthlessly. Her moans would fill the room; her eyes glazed and misty like she was caught in a dream and by the spirits, her molten orifice- unbearably hot and slick, weeping for her release, as she haplessly begged for his touch, him teasing and stoking the fire within her until they were both burning cinders.

He gritted his teeth. Those dreams left him unsatisfied, waking up wishing for her warmth by his side.

Rukia didn't know about his ardent infatuation for her and he would take great lengths to hide it for as long as he could. It was dark and twisted, this obsession of his; so vast a difference from when all he wanted was his name upon her lips.

Something had to be done.

So what if he had decided to take advantage of the rampant rumours, to utilize the situation to suit his own purpose?

The tribesmen already think he's courting her. Spirits, some even thought they were betrothed! Would it really make that much of a difference for them?

As Sheikh, it was all he had been taught: to manipulate, to speak half-truths and to never wear his heart on his sleeve. The idea of being vulnerable scared him. The need to speak openly of his emotions, realizing the depth of his almost laughable yearning— those were but some of the changes that Rukia stirred in him.

His heart wove songs of them, gave a name to his emotions and desires, but his mind and fear stilled his tongue.

He was a Sheikh, it was quick to remind him— not a poet, nor a musician. What good were words and songs?

A ruler of men had no need of them!

"It is my right to claim you—" his palms were sweaty. And in his nervousness, the thought that he may be overcompensating with his aggressiveness slipped his mind—"or have you not been paying attention to the news at all, my dearest _betrothed_."

.

_Slap!_

.

Moments later, a very much enraged and humiliated Sheikh was seen stomping his way out from the healer's _bayt_ , his right hand cradling the side of his face that was printed a bright shade of red, an almost perfect imprint of Rukia's delicate palm.

Ichigo's eyebrows were furrowed and his scowl was deep. It promised death upon provocation and everyone steered clear of his path as he exited.

His goat-skin boots kicked up sands as he nursed his wounded pride in silence, fuming as he did. Suffice to say the proposal was not well received.

Ichigo scowled and clenched his fist tight. Her rejection stung.

Most women would have died of ecstasy just by the thought of being an extended a marriage proposal by their young Sheikh. He was young and virile, handsome and charming (if he set his mind to it) and had been known to set hearts aflutter with a flash of his smile and a wink. A weaker woman would have swooned at the sight of him, bronzed and toned as he laboured under the hot sun. The knot of his firm muscles and that chest glistening with sweat, _ah_ — most women would have confessed that it made them more than a little parched.

And power— the coveted position of clan mother and tribe matriarch that came with him. He was a catch and no sane woman would deny that.

In the case of Rukia however, Ichigo was finally beginning to learn and accept the fact that the healer was far from being the conventional 'most women'.

Her barely concealed contempt at his proposal and the very noticeable print of rejection on the side of his face had been very convincing in telling him of her thoughts on the matter.

He did not understand. He was offering a lifetime of commitment for better or for worse, swearing off his golden bachelorhood on a silver platter for her, certainly that would have amounted to something for a woman who came from nothing.

And yet, she had refused him as though it would have been beneath her to accept the offer.

Looking past the hurt, a great part of him was offended at her explosive reaction to the proposal.

Ichigo could see only two possible reasons as to why she may have declined his offer. The first and foremost, there was already some other unknown man she carried deep within her heart of hearts that rendered her immune to his charms. But he had seen no token of engagement; no rings of gold, no bangles of silver and no carved necklaces of pearls and charms, so he was rather certain that it was not the case.

The second and more likely conclusion that came to mind was that she had an issue with him. Something about him- or maybe it was the way he acted around her, something he said perhaps—

.

_Ah!_

_._

This constant thinking- deliberating back and forth between his thoughts made him feel like a fool.

Was there even a point to it- this exercise in futility?

He sighed, running a hand through his tousled lock and eyebrows furrowed deep in thought. It didn't make sense to Ichigo.

Rukia had ambitions- had the wits and the machinations to go with it as well. A truly ambitious woman would aspire to climb even higher than an Elder.

The possible advantages associated with being the head wife of the Sheikh were undeniable. Marriage to him would have benefitted her standing in the tribe greatly. Bearing him sons would have entitled her to more- much better spoils than a position in a Council ever would.

She could have ivory and silk, pearls and crystals, the first-born mare of his prized mount, clothes lined and embroidered with the finest furs and gems; any worldly goods that was within his right as a Sheikh to give and receive, if she agreed to be his wife.

Yet, all the riches of the world at her feet would sway Rukia no more than a tempest would for the mountains. She yearned not for handsome clothes, sparkling jewelleries; materialistic things well within his power to bestow. Instead, she seemed quite determined to stay on in her position as Healer and serve on the Council as a supposed messenger of the ancestors and spirits.

Growling, Ichigo wondered not for the first time of the day; just what was it that the healer wanted from him.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, Rukia is most women to a certain extent. She just hides it better. Someone should tell Ichigo that his proposal sucks.


	22. Reckless

.

"Rukia?"

The healer frowned. Her fingers are shaking and she is very much unsettled- has been feeling like that ever since Ichigo's visit and his dramatic proposal. What was that man even thinking?

Maybe that was his problem- that he _wasn't_ thinking. Not rationally anyway.

She couldn't believe anyone in his position would be so stupid or rash. Even if it was to quell torrid rumours- there were better ways to do that. No, she bit her tongue, tightening the grip on her pestle as she grinded the paste. Her thoughts are racing and there is a suspicion lingering at the back of her mind that she was missing out on a crucial bit of information.

The Intended was plotting something, but Goddess above, why can't she _see_ it?

"Rukia are you even listening to me?"

Nanao's sudden touch on the back of her palm made her jump.

Her hand slipped, dropping the bowl and both women watched in horror as the ceramic bowl fell with a loud clatter. It splintered and cracked, its contents splattering on the carpets.

"Rukia!" Nanao cried out in alarm, "Are you alright?

"Y-Ye—"

"Healer Rukia, come quickly!"

Both women turned to see Kon dashing into the tent. He was panting and very much out of breath, cheeks red from the sun and exhaustion. Rukia immediately went to him, concern evident in the knot of her eyebrows, the broken ceramic pieces forgotten for now.

"What is it, Kon?"

"Sheikh Ichigo is in a fight!"

Rukia cursed. Of all the stupid things that insufferable man could have done!

They would need some dressings, poultice of course to stop bleeding. She didn't know what to think beyond her instincts to grab her healer's kit and go to him. There were so many questions she needed to ask Kon. For starters, who was he fighting against and why? Was he hurt? Before she could take another step forward though, she stilled, suddenly feeling foolish.

She must have really lost her head, she thought, chiding herself on her naiveté. She was caught in the rush of the moment when she needed to keep calm, to keep her wits about her and be rational. Despite the prevailing rumours and what the tribesmen believed, she was not his fiancée!

Why should she care?

She shouldn't care this much, shouldn't be reacting this way to the news. He could have a sword lodged somewhere through his gut and her first concern should be based on that of a healer's, on how to dislodge the weapon without bringing him more pain.

Not—

She clenched her fists against the skirt of her tunic dress. She was over-reacting and that just wouldn't do- not when there were already wild rumours circulating about the two of them and their _clandestine_ affair. There were other things that she should have considered before she rushed headfirst to plunge herself into further drama.

"Where is Lady Yoruichi? Has she been made aware of this?"

Kon answered almost immediately, "Lady Yoruichi is entertaining the iron merchants. She has left clear instructions. She is not to be disturbed!"

Rukia gritted her teeth. The fates- how they _loved_ to conspire against her! He was the Intended. She needed him alive for her _sweven._

"Lead the way, Kon!"

.

.

It was a standoff between two men, swords drawn and the tension was palpable in the air.

Grimmjow was drunk. The characteristic dank of alcohol wafting from him, his swaying stance and the intoxicated gleam in his eyes had made it all too apparent. Throwing what little remains of his inhibition aside, he cackled wildly and had a nasty sneer on his face. On one hand, he held his jug of liquor and on the other, his wicked blade.

Her Sheikh on the other hand, looked positively livid. His stance was entirely too tense and his hold on his sword was too tight. Grimmjow must have said or done something to upset him greatly.

"Walk away, Grimmjow," said Ichigo coldly, "you're drunk. You won't remember anything about this when you're sober."

"Fuck you, Cousin!" hissed the drunk. "You think I don't _know?_ You stole what was to be **mine**!" He dropped his bottle of liquor and charged towards the Sheikh like a deranged beast.

.

_Clink!_

.

The two blades connected as Ichigo defended himself and drove his opponent back with a cut on the sword arm. The cut aggravated the latter, worsening his ire.

"I was to be Sheikh, you hear me?!" he roared, "I am the oldest male from the eldest son. Our grandfather should have made **me** Sheikh!"

Grimmjow launched himself into a frenzy of attacks. His younger cousin was pushed back, but managed to deflect the attacks accordingly, meeting his opponent parry for parry, cut for cut; before telling him sternly that it was enough.

"You have no right to speak ill of the dead, cousin. Least of all, our grandfather."

His words fell on deaf ears and his actions merely incensed Grimmjow, who was now brimming with righteous anger and seething with bitterness. He snarled bitterly, "Shut the fuck up, you usurper! You have no right to call him grandfather when your fucking mother was a whore and your father, a bastard!"

Brown eyes narrowed. "Hold your tongue, Grimmjow!" he growled as he raised his blade against an incoming strike.

His cousin was a formidable swordsman, but the alcohol made his movements sluggish and clouded his mind. Ichigo had an advantage and he fully intended to utilize it.

Grimmjow sneered maliciously. "Bastard, you don't have the balls to make me shut up!" he chortled and pressed on with his rabid onslaught.

"You are puny," he roared as he brought the sword down in an arc. The impact jarringly knocked the Sheikh off balance. The latter cursed as he struggled to regain his footing without being pushed backwards and losing ground.

His cousin saw his opportunity and lunged, guffawing like a mad man all the way.

.

_Fuck!_

.

The naked blade nicked Ichigo's sword arm as he waved off the attack.

He glowered. With agility on his side, he dodged the more powerful blows and held off the weaker ones as the drunkard attacked unrelentingly.

Ichigo had his hands tied; he was unwilling to deal a killing blow on a fellow kin- an injury on the side could be fatal and he could not judge the extent of the damages with his cousin's erratic movements. Hand-to-hand combat would be preferable in such a case.

But that man was a pain in the ass and he would not stop taunting. Grimmjow insulted every single being that he held in his heart to honour and respect, Ichigo's dignity and pride as Sheikh would not stand for such insubordination.

"You are weak!"

The sword swung to his right and missed him by a mile. Grimmjow snarled nastily.

.

_Shut up!_

.

"You are nothing!"

Ichigo pushed on forward, fending off an attack from the left as he swept in from the side to disarm his raving cousin.

.

_Shut the fuck up!_

.

"No wonder you couldn't protect your mother."

Ichigo snapped.

There was no other way to describe the sudden jerk as the Sheikh's grip twisted on the handle of his blade. His eyes turned from patches of brown into molten amber and Rukia knew in that instant, the tides of the battle have changed.

Like a berserker, he threw himself against the older man and began to attack with no holds barred. This Ichigo was frightening and even Grimmjow seemed slightly taken aback by the transformation.

Rukia was momentarily entranced by his moments as he swiped and maimed. She could feel his murderous intent but what a sight he was to behold as he delivered the blows. He wielded his blade so calmly with such deadly precisions as he left scores of bleeding cuts on his opponent.

There was a desire for vengeance gleaming through his eyes, devoid of warmth and the cruel turn of his lips only added to his viciousness. He wore that look well and she recognized it as the exact look of bloodthirst, dark with madness tinged, in her vision. Rukia scarcely dared to breathe.

The Intended!

The crowd watched on with bated breath as Grimmjow sustained cut after cut, Ichigo delivering them with deft precision and stone-cold ruthlessness as the two cousins exchanged blows. Frustrated, Grimmjow launched a desperate attack as he raised his sword and charged blindly.

Ichigo crouched and swiftly landed a succession of solid punches on his exposed stomach. Clutching his middle in pain, Grimmjow spat at his opponent but Ichigo had taken advantage of his drunken cousin's loss of balance to swipe his legs out from him. He kicked the blade out of the drunkard's hands as soon as the latter was on the ground.

Rukia released the breath that she had unknowingly been holding. Her sheikh had won.

.

Ichigo had his blade at the man's exposed throat, a foot planted solidly upon the other man's chest. The crowd drew a collective intake of breath as they watched the scene unfold.

The older tribal members shook their heads, ashamed at the behaviour of the two feuding cousins. It was not right. Their old Sheikh- the feuding cousins' grandfather would be most disappointed by this display.

What was this generation coming to?

Chest heaving and eyes blazing, Ichigo growled; blood lust still clouding his judgment.

"Never insult my parents. Scums like you," he spat; digging in his heel, watching his cousin squirm, "have no right to even mention their names!"

With that, Ichigo sheathed his blade and turned to leave as the crowd parted for him. He tuned out the whispers, the murmurs of disapproval and ignored the shifty glances from his elders.

Rationally, he knew he should have behaved better. He was supposed to lead by example, but the savage in him wanted his cousin's head for he said. He needed to calm down and more importantly, he needed to put some distance between him and the rest of the tribe.

With his cousin's back conveniently facing him, Grimmjow shakily rose and bitterness gleamed in those feral eyes. His body hurt even with the presence of alcohol to dull the pain. That son of a bitch had another thing coming if he thought that their fight was over!

Stealthily, he retrieved his fallen weapon from the ground and with the attention of the crowd still fixated on his leaving cousin, attacked.

.

" _ **ICHIGO!**_ " Rukia shouted.

Like a wild panther, feral and silent; Grimmjow lunged at his unsuspecting cousin.

With his back facing Grimmjow, Ichigo had only whirled around in surprise when he suddenly heard someone calling out his name. There was no time to unsheathe his blade.

Recovering almost instantaneously from the shock, honed instincts kicked in and he nimbly swept his cousin's right foot out from under him, but the damage was done. He was not quick enough to block the attack.

Grimmjow left his mark- a jagged single laceration on Ichigo's chest; the blade had penetrated skin and tissue, leaving a gaping wound that spewed blood. Drops of it decorated the shifting sand beneath him.

A look of disbelief flashed through his eyes and Rukia could feel her heart leaping to her throat.

Was he going to die from the wound?

His attacker crumpled but laughed maniacally as he observed his handiwork with relish.

"See that mark?" he cackled and spat, "I made that, I cut you. I made you **BLEED**!"

Rukia snapped into action. With an authoritative bark, she ordered the men in the stunned crowd to restrain the drunken lunatic, a crazed smile on his lips and still cackling.

She frowned; wishing Ichigo had the sense to knock the man unconscious just now because the cackling grated on her nerves immensely. She was having trouble thinking and concentrating with that annoying noise in the background.

"Someone either shut him up or remove him from my sight!" she hollered and someone in the crowd must have done the deed because it became mercifully peaceful after that.

Inwardly, she winced at her callous tone. Apparently, the idiot's crude manners have rubbed off on her, but now was not the time to worry about such matters.

She glanced at her sheikh, glad to see that he was still standing, albeit rather unsteadily. Mercifully, the wound had not been deep enough to kill.

Quickly, the healer mobilized another two men to help move their injured Sheikh back into the healer's tent. When approached by his kinsmen, she was infuriated to find that he had the gall to refuse their help and was limping back to the tent by himself.

The two gave her a helpless shrug and she knew that the fault did not lie with them. For better or worse, Ichigo was still their leader and to disobey a Sheikh's direct order, was practically unheard of.

She bristled. What good was his pride in a moment like this?

The healer bit her tongue. She walked to his side and hefted his arm over her shoulders.

"Let the fuck go," he growled menacingly, in a tone so sharp that it could have cut. She scoffed, loud enough for his ears only and then whispered just as harshly.

"The hell I will!"

He scowled fiercely at that, but had not waved her off, so the hobbling pair made their way back to the _bayt_ in uneasy silence. For a second, Rukia had thought he would faint but then decided he was so pig-headed and stupid that even sleep found him intolerable.

She grimaced. That idiot was trouble reincarnated, through and through!

.

.

Just like his nightly fantasies, here she was touching him of her own accord. Her touch was cool against his heated skin, feather-light and dancing as she inspected his naked torso. He watched as her delicate digits dabbed and smeared, her tiny wrist flexing and spread wide on his skin as she skimmed and mapped. Her dainty little mouth muttered incorrigible nothings with an occasional mention of his name, hair brushed back behind her ears and brows puckered adorably while she bent over him.

With all the seriousness as befitting of a healer.

Brown eyes watched in undivided fascination as she stood nary but a hairsbreadth away, eyes alive and fingers busy. He leaned closer towards her and he could smell her scent, fresh and lovely while she remained unperturbed by the slightest with their distance. And then, apparently satisfied with her work, she drew back her hand and shot him a reprimanding glare as she bandaged his wound. The bleeding from the ugly slash across his chest finally stemmed.

Truly a weaker man would have whimpered at the loss of contact, but as she rolled layer after layer of hot, foul poultice-smelling bandages around him; the sharp sting and smell had made every other thought pale in comparison. Of course, she just had to knot the bandages tight enough to constrict him at the end as well.

The Sheikh frowned. Her bedside manner was appalling.

"You can leave now," she commanded with arms akimbo as she glared at the Sheikh, who was naked from upper chest.

"You cannot command a hurt patient to get out of the healer's tent!" he replied; mood foul and still reminiscing her touch.

Rukia scoffed. "Well, said patient would not have gotten hurt if he had not gotten involved in a meaningless fight now, would he?"

.

_Meaningless?_

.

Ichigo shot up, supporting himself with sheer determination when he suddenly felt something wet seeping through the strips of white bandages. He winced when he saw them dyed crimson and he knew that his wound must have reopened. He instinctively turned his gaze to Rukia.

Her glare was frosty and he knew he was in for a bout of tongue lashing; never mind the fact that she was the one who had commanded him to leave in the first place.

"Spirits take you!" she hissed in exasperation and he bit his tongue to stop his retort. She pried and unravelled all her hard work, once again dabbing furiously at his chest with a homemade brew of herbs and antiseptics to stem the bleeding.

She made him press another clean towel hard against his wound while she glanced at his other injuries. There were minor cuts and scrapes, mostly on his sword arm. Those cuts were mercifully shallow and did not require too much of her care. That gash on his chest however was a different story altogether.

Pursing her lips, Rukia decided that she was not going to take any chances with that devil of a wound reopening again. Coming back with a block of solid wood and her sewing kit, she motioned for him to bite down on the wood while she sewed and stitched his wound shut.

Of course, the idiot being the masochistic pig that he was would decline the offer. Rukia was simply too angry to care about what the damned fool wanted and simply stuffed his face, ignoring his cries of outrage and grimaces.

When the cauterized needle pricked his skin, she could see that he was grateful for her blatant disregard of his wants. He would have bitten down on his tongue and hurt himself if she had not done so.

Stitch by stitch, Rukia carefully threaded her way, pointedly ignoring the agonized look on his face for she knew he would not want her to look upon him in his moment of weakness. Working in silence, she finished by pouring a generous amount of alcohol over the wound.

Then, intent on chasing him out of her tent before the other tribal members started entertaining any other ideas of them together; she was surprised to see that her patient was already fast asleep.

Thick auburn eyelashes lined his eyelids, making him look endearingly young and boyish. With no scowl to pick on and no grimace to criticize, he was, she begrudgingly admitted, almost handsome, so much so that she did not have the heart to wake him from his slumber.

He was after all, injured.

Rukia was not blind. She had seen the scores of old scars littered on his body when she was treating him. There was one in particular, an ugly burn mark almost like a brand by the side of his abdomen that made her hiss. It would have been fatal had it not healed the way it had.

The position of Sheikh exacted payments in blood, sweat and tears; of innocence lost and eyes that had seen too much, too young. The healer in her was at the very least, sympathetic of that and parts of her softened.

As she brushed away the bangs covering his eyes, her hand lingered on his cheek against her better judgment. Shaking her head, she decided that she would allow him to stay and rest while she set about preparing dinner for two.

.

He shivered involuntarily. It was too cold to be asleep.

Tawny eyelashes fluttered open as he gazed upon his surroundings, puzzled. He remembered his tent being much bigger and more spacious. And obviously, it did not reek of putrid poultice.

Propping himself upright, Ichigo could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw the silhouette of Rukia, her back facing him and the aroma of warm food wafting through the cosy little tent. He peered about and realized that there was not another soul in sight.

"I see that you are awake," came her steady alto, breaking the silence and he turned his gaze once again towards her. The only source of light in the tent was a glowing fire she was tending to and he could see the reflection of the flames flickering like specks in her violet eyes.

It was mesmerizing.

His breath caught and his heart must have lodged itself somewhere along his windpipe as he struggled for words. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Have you seen my tunic?" he asked, remembering the torn, blood-stained garment.

His hostess frowned, "I don't think that you would like to have it back."

She was right of course. The blood stains would be an absolute nightmare to clean and he would never have wanted either of his younger sisters to witness the evidence of his injury.

He was grateful to her; more so when she said 'here' and grabbed a thick blanket from her pile of clothes, giving it to him. He wrapped it around him securely. The woollen afghan was clean and when he discreetly pressed it close to his nose, smelt faintly of her.

"Thank you," he murmured and the object of his infatuation handed him a bowl of broth and offered him a slice of bread.

He blinked. All of this was entirely too unbelievable to be real.

.

Dinner turned out to be a dull and silent affair; altogether not what she had imagined. She had half-expected him to initiate a conversation, but he seemed faraway, lost to his thoughts.

His bowl remains full and she mused; perhaps he was just worried about his sisters. Had they heard the news of his injury yet?

Maybe that was what he did not want them to know?

She sighed. She knew men like Grimmjow, angry and feral men with no greater purpose in life if only to cause pain and suffering. These men hold grudges and they never forget, just like how she knew he would never forget that she had killed his subordinates despite her pardon from his Sheikh.

His dissatisfaction and displeasure of his cousin was legendary and when he was drunk, Grimmjow was a mean drunk. Losing the little rationality and restrain he possessed while sober, he would charge at his opponent- his perceived injurer until one of them dies.

So why had that idiot of a Sheikh stood his ground and fought against his cousin? She had asked, cutting through the thick silence. Surely it would be simpler to walk away and ignore the ramblings of a drunken fool?

And the confidence in his answer, that smirk of his annoyed her.

"Because I am the Sheikh."

Yes, she thought with a roll of her eyes. Because he was the Sheikh, everyone was supposed to bow down and kowtow to him; because he was Sheikh, he dictated and others would carry out his orders.

Because he was Sheikh, he would have everything he wanted with just a snap of his fingers. It was his underlying conviction in everything he did.

Simply because he was Sheikh.

She stabbed hard at a piece of meat. "You could have been killed," she said, frowning when she saw the annoying expression on his face.

His grin was smug and very much suspicious-looking, like he was holding onto some deep dark secret about her that only he was privy to. It made her skin crawl.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say that you are worried about me, _Rukia_."

He had a way of spelling out her name that was unique to him; always starting with a low _Ru_ , and then _kia_ , soft and quick at the end but accented and almost sensual at the start.

The truth was she was worried about him, but for entirely different reasons- reasons that he had no business of ever getting involved with. If she had her way, he would never find out the truth about her- who she truly was and why she was here, let alone details about the _sweven._ She cleared her unwanted thoughts away.

" _Ha!_ " she scoffed. Throwing bits of bread at him, she replied, "Don't flatter yourself."

Then out of nowhere, a thunk of meat landed on her clean dress and then bits of bread landed smack against her chin. She gasped in outrage when she saw his smirking face, completely unabashed at being caught red-handed, still breaking off bits of bread from his slice.

Two could play at that game, she thought.

She was quicker, so the next piece of flying food came from her and landed among his orange tresses.

"Hey!" he hollered indignantly, picking the offending food away from his hair, but it only made her laugh harder. Well, if it was a war she wanted; he was only too happy to comply.

He scooped another spoonful of broth, took aim and fired.

Perhaps childishness and insanity was contagious, but somehow a food fight had ensued within the confinements of her tent.

Food went flying to and fro between them until the whole _bayt_ was booming with laughter, until their sides ached, until there were tear streaks running down both their glowing cheeks, until her clothes were dirty and splattered, until they were both breathless and helpless with glee.

Until she realized he had somehow picked himself up from his spot and tackled her to the ground. He was suddenly so close, lying on top of her with the tip of their noses almost touching.

She stilled. It was like that time in the sandstorm when he came after her. He had shielded her with his body, holding her close. The two of them- victims of happenstance, powerless against the destructive forces of nature around them as they laid close enough to hear the sound of each other's heartbeat. Things were different now and yet Rukia wondered briefly if her heart beat just as loudly and tersely then.

In that moment frozen in time, they were lost for words and just stared at each other. She had forgotten for now, that of his flaws and wrongdoings, her duties and _sweven_ ; throwing her head back as a rare bout of mirth erupted from her.

Ichigo was a goner drowning in the sight of her. Her wide and open smile, her rosy cheeks, her heaving chest, her thumping heartbeat- everything about her made him burn. His hands were on her forearms, holding her body- still shuddering from her bout of breathless giggles close to his. He looked into her eyes, alive and radiant. She was here, close enough for him to touch and kiss. There were so many things that he wanted to say to her.

Dazed and as though possessed, Rukia reached for his hair, fiery and wild. She threaded her fingers through it. They were surprisingly soft to her touch and she linked her awe-struck eyes with his warm brown eyes. The flickers of the hearth reflected in his eyes, turning it golden and smouldering. There was a strange shine to them, tawny with luminescent amber flecks, but she could not bring herself to care then.

She grinned. This was the most fun that she had had in a very long time, the first time she could remember laughing this openly since she began her journey; this man with his knack of stirring up trouble had made her laugh and forget.

Even if it was just for a stolen moment in the course of time, barely even a page in her untold tale of struggle, she would enjoy this rare reprieve. For tonight, for now at least, she would try to forget about his identity as an Intended and its ramifications.

That can come tomorrow.

Strangely, she noticed he had his gaze focused on hers again, but her mind was unusually slow and hazy then, to fully understand the look in his eyes and the consequences of her action. She realized at some point that she must have done something rather imprudent, but when she opened her mouth to speak.

He kissed her and took all those clever words away.

.

.

.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Le swoon!_  
>  Bet you didn't see that one coming. xD  
>  **It is done.**


	23. The Truth

.

They were so close to each other.

Dark hair against fair skin as pale as the moon, lips red and swollen from being kisses- she made his heart bleed with want. She was just so mesmerizingly beautiful to his senses.

Ichigo wanted to hold her tight and smother himself in her scent until his world smelt of herbs and dried flowers. He could make out the individual lashes on her eyes and if he strained his ears, he thought he could hear the sound of her heartbeat racing in tandem to his.

Rukia.

Her eyes were deliciously dark in the dim light. She was staring at him with something akin to breathlessness and hunger in her eyes again. He wondered if the same look is mirrored in his and if she felt this hunger just as acutely as he did.

The woman's touch- just the very thought of her was poison to his sanity. Being so close to her has always made him reckless.

Drunk and heady, he wanted to drape her in furs and silks, to circle her tiny wrists, waist and ankles with rows of gold and silver coins; a rainbow-hued collection of jewels and opalescent pearls adorning every part of her body and then, like a mad man possessed, he wanted to tear it all off from her and have her lying naked and warm, beneath him.

He would mark her and commit every part of her to memory, to know how and where she likes to be touched and memorise the noises she makes.

He would have her.

He would make her his.

.

Ichigo's hold on her forearms tightened as he deepened the kiss.

His wound was all but forgotten as he pulled her closer, the tips of her straining nipples grazing against his bare chest through her cotton tunic.

The sudden brush made his skin burn hot. He had plans- so many things that he wanted to learn and discover about her, so many parts of her that he wanted to kiss and mark. He'd make her weep tears of joy and feel as weightless as the clouds before the night was over but for now, he turned his attention back to her lips.

He couldn't get enough of her kisses.

Her lips were softer than he had ever imagined and as they parted for him, his tongue delved into the depths of her mouth, coaxing hers to give in while idle hands placed themselves to the small of her back, the skirt of her shift hitching to show skin.

From the back of her throat, she made a sound, barely recognisable as hers- a cross between his name and a moan as he ended the kiss with a sharp nip to her bottom lips. She sighed, melting against him as he left kisses down the column of her throat, his hands trailing lower until they rested on her ass.

She gasped, hands fisting at his hair as she leaned into his touch. They were still not close enough. She wanted more of his liquid fire, more of his kisses. She wanted to feel his hot skin under her hands.

But what she wanted had never mattered and it wasn't about to change now.

This was wrong.

Ichigo- he was dangerous, an Intended who could destroy everything she and her goddess strive to protect. This was the man she's supposed to be protecting the world from!

They have to stop this.

She can't—

She can't betray Lady Shirayuki. She had her _sweven-_ her mission to attend to. This _thing_ between her and Ichigo- no, she chided herself; she needed to stop addressing him as such. He was the Intended to her. Distance- maintaining it was good and important.

A seeress, an Intended- that's all they should ever be to each other.

Futilely, she tried to push him away. She summoned her strength to her weak limbs and willed them to move.

Yet, her sheikh had merely frowned and like the obstinate fool that he was, tightened the grip about her and nipped at her already swollen lips. His obvious arousal was now rubbing insistently at her thigh, demanding her attention as the torture drew on.

She willfully suppressed a moan. He was inevitably going to make her surrender her rationality if he continued.

There was only one thing left to do.

Rukia bit down on his tongue.

.

The pain came as a surprise and made him jump. He sprang away from her instinctively. Tongue bleeding, the copper tang did nothing to assuage his hunger for her. Breathing heavily, Ichigo tried to calm his beating heart.

His bulge stiffened when her delicate fingers rose and unconsciously touched her lips. Plump and still swollen, they were inviting and he mourned for the loss of contact.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, he noted with smugness how her eyes were still a molten brew of quicksilver and darkness, clouded with what he would like to think as desire for him.

He caught sight of her rosy cheeks and mussed up hair, stopping at the sight of her heaving chest briefly before focusing once again on her lips. Rukia was looking at anywhere but him and the male in him bristled. Awkwardly, he shifted his position, mindful of keeping his excited member out of sight. The hardened length strained against his tight trousers making him uncomfortable. He scowled fiercely, intent on ignoring his discomfort and hurt.

"What just happened?" he croaked, his voice was still hoarse and needy.

What in the name of the spirits was wrong with that woman?

She had been so willing barely moments ago, meeting his assault head-on and passionately. She had been the oil and the air, pressing him on until his flicker of desire turned to resemble a bonfire.

"I-I thought it was fairly obvious," she mumbled. She loathed the tremor and uncertainty in her voice. It made her seem weak.

Rukia forced herself to meet his accusing glare openly, her voice straining with emotions she could not name.

.

"I _pushed_ you _away_."

.

His scowl deepened. " _I_ _know_ _that_ , _Healer_ ," he growled, "Why the _fuck_ would you do _**that**_?"

Rukia pursed her lips, now thoroughly annoyed.

Who was he to demand explanations from her?

She was not the one who initiated the crazy gesture. She was not the one who was over spilling with emotions- all that torrent of want and heat, so thick it was making it hard to breathe almost.

She wasn't the one who started kissing him with such fervour and pass-

She froze.

.

_Oh Goddess above, could it be?_

_._

Violet eyes widened and something must have flashed through them because her sheikh's posture had visibly changed. The man had suddenly stiffened and his all-consuming gaze faltered. Her hand flew to her mouth.

With her suspicions confirmed, there was nothing left but her disbelief.

"How long?" she asked.

Ichigo's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. There, she knows; he thought with horror. All his carefully masked thoughts and deeply veiled intentions have been for naught.

He cursed softly and tried to evade the question. "Does it matter?" he parried, his gaze was hot against hers and Rukia found that her mouth had long since gone dry.

"It does to me, _Ichigo_."

He chuckled bitterly. That woman did not play fair. She should know by now that even the barest mention of his name by her could leave him unhinged and unstable.

Ichigo sighed. "Too long," he said cryptically.

She furrowed her brows. He was Sheikh, as he was so fond of reminding her. He could have had any woman he wanted, infinitely prettier and more willing than she was.

She was nothing but a stalk of plain lily amidst blooms of vibrant desert roses. She had no familial connection to anyone else in their tight-knit community, had neither herds nor gold to add to his treasury of riches. Practically speaking, she was of no value as a bride.

So why her?

"Why?"

Ichigo frowned. What did she mean 'why'?

Because she was Rukia. A woman whose last name he did not even know of, yet had captivated him all the same from the very moment he first laid eyes on her- a warrior who professed to heal.

Because she was altogether lovely, fair and incomprehensibly enchanting to him; from the cut of her short, dark hair to her delicate fingertips, she beckoned to him. Her elusiveness and her very existence was a mystery he sought to unravel. She haunted his dreams and beguiled him with her smiles until she became an obsession.

Because she cared- not out of necessity, but out of something speaks of the pureness of her heart. When she pleaded on behalf of a nameless orphan before the Council, sparing what little she had for a complete stranger with nothing to be gained from it. She was good- so inspiringly selfless that he was afraid of corrupting her with his presence, afraid that he had made a mistake by letting her take her place among the elders.

Because she was sharp, stubborn and unrelenting, never intimidated by him or held in awe by the power he wielded. He had the authority to banish her and cast her out from his tribe like a pariah, to crush her like the flower that she was but she had never so much as twitch from his threats. She held true to her convictions and never once balked from her decisions. He respected that.

She did not, and will not break.

Because she was Rukia- the future wife of the Sheikh and mother of his children; compassionate but not blindingly so, cunning but with a strange set of morals belying her sharp wit and even sharper tongue. Contradicting and complex, she was very first and possibly only woman who would ever make him _feel_ despite his best attempts otherwise.

" _Because_ ," he answered succinctly. After all, there was no better answer to give.

She made him feel things, complicated things that had no place in his world for a man of his position.

It made him vulnerable. He disliked this feeling immensely- tried to push those strange thoughts away to keep his mind sane and quiet, but his heart kept yearning and pining for her anyway.

He gave her another glance. Then, without saying another word, he turned and left.

Outside the _bayt,_ the air was noticeably chillier. The afghan blanket was wound tightly against his body as he buried his nose in the soft scent, flowery sweet but not cloying.

He was missing her already.

But now, it was her move to make. Having had all his intention left exposed in the open, Ichigo's pride would not allow him to stoop any further and to continue with his "pestering" of her.

No, he made up his mind firmly. She must come willingly to him for their next meeting.

.

Inside, the hearth fire was warm and blazing, but Rukia had drawn herself into a ball and hugged her knees. Even when she was seated next to the burning embers, she still felt cold.

She collected her dishes numbly, barely even noticed that she was cleaning them as she cast her mind far into the recesses of her recent memory. She was still so shaken up by his kiss.

So was this what it felt like?

She touched her lips absentmindedly.

To be desired by a man?

She should ignore and forget the kiss. A relationship cannot be founded on deceit and what they have between them was nothing more than a web of lies. The secrets she kept hidden were much too glaring to ever be forgiven. It was for the best- to put it all behind her and forget that it had ever happened.

Yet, her body remembered the press of his lips with such frightening clarity and that electrifying zing that was hers when he held her close against his beating heart, she couldn't ignore it. His touch was scorching and it burnt her.

She chided herself for being foolish.

Even if he desired her, well she thought; what of it? Nothing, absolutely nothing good, would have emerged from the affair. So he would bed her and she would oblige in the heat of the moment, but come morning, what of it?

Rukia was not naïve.

Men, like all mortal things are fickle by nature. This man, however stirring his kisses were, was not an exception to the case. She couldn't allow herself to be swayed.

She had come too far to find herself waylaid by these _pesky_ things. These intangible feelings and emotions- they would bring about cloud her judgment, bringing about ruin and damnation. She wasn't prepared to forsake the world for her own selfishness.

Rukia felt drained, unprepared by the sudden revelation and the complications it brought.

That night, she did not dream of her dying goddess and the smell of charred flesh.

Instead, she dreamt of _him_ ; his kisses and unspoken desires for her. His body was inexplicably close to hers and ever-so invitingly warm as she unwittingly became enveloped in his scent. His smile was entirely too predatory to be proper, but she relished it all the same.

She could feel his gaze, searing and hot, burning his brand on to her unblemished skin, as though he was marking her, singling her out for reasons unknown. She gulped, especially when he had her pinned down beneath him, legs spread apart and chest heaving.

She felt like a moth, caught in his fiery allure; a fly in a spider's web, a sacrificial lamb placed on the golden pedestal, completely under his spell and at his mercy.

She wondered if he could smell her fear, her nervousness and she clenched her fists.

.

_Stop!_

_._

But he did not.

He set off a trail of fire as he descended upon her and languidly nipped at her feverish skin, his hands had a mind of their own as they sketched the contours of her body with a touch as befitting of a skilled artist.

Still in a daze, she barely noticed anything at all when he gingerly took her hand into his much larger ones and brought it to his lips.

Her breath caught as his warm, supple lips touched her cool fingertips. Her heart racing as his pink tongue darted and licked at her delicate digits, gaze set penetratingly hard into her eyes.

His eyes were such lively embers of fire. Colours rose to her cheeks.

"Let go of my hand," she hissed menacingly, trying to fight off the tight hold on her wrist.

He merely shot her an amused smirk as he guided her unwilling hand lower; past his chin, the cords of his neck; sliding past his Adam's apple and settled it on his chest.

There, he said wordlessly to her as he held her hand close to his beating chest.

"Feel it," he told her before he threw his arm around her waist and caught her by surprise yet again, when he brought his lips down upon hers.

.

Rukia woke up with a start. A hand rose to rest on her heaving chest unbidden.

She groaned, cold with beads of sweat sliding down her spine and needy with stickiness coating her inner thighs.

Why her indeed?

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hint of long-awaited lime, I hope I did not disappoint. These two make quite a pair, don't they? XD


End file.
